Across These City Streets
by J.D. Toulouse
Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.
1. Chapter 1

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York condo. Her studies at Yale have come to an end and she can include a Master of Fine Arts degree from the acting program in her resume. However, life doesn't care about your accomplishments and hard work. It is unpredictable that way, and sometimes very brutal.

Fabrevans-story with a large dosage of Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity thrown into it.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 1_

I had not heard from him, let alone seen him, since I graduated from McKinley High in May of 2012, so I was a little surprised when his name was unexpectedly brought up by my dinner table.

It was late April, and Finn and Rachel had dropped by my small New York apartment to discuss details about their wedding, that would take place next summer. Well, it was mostly Rachel doing the talking. Finn just sat there and looked confused while nursing a cup of hot black coffee. You see, he _finally_ learned to drink the coffee bean based beverage. _Yay_, adult points to Finny!

Anyways, if you ask me, I would say that it was a little early—emphasis on the word 'little'—to start talking about specific details, such as what colors the table cloths or bridesmaid's dresses should have, but Rachel has made it very clear that _everything_ has to be absolutely perfect. 'It's all about preparation' I remember she told me once; I think it was right after we booked the cute little chapel in which the wedding would take place. Honestly, I had no idea it was possible to book a place one and a half year in advance! But when it comes to Rachel Berry I guess everything is possible . . .

Finn and Rachel were sitting side my side at the other end of my small dinner table. In front of them sat two cups of coffee—Finn's almost empty and Rachel's barely half filled, or half empty, depending on how you see it. I bet she would pronounce it half filled—and a plate of cookies and cupcakes, all homebaked. My mother would have been so proud – if she ever bothered to call.

Finn scratched his jaw thoughtfully, two or three days' worth of stubble covered the smooth skin, and I could almost see the mechanic wheels in his head turning as he tried to come up with an answer that would make Rachel believe that he had at least _tried_ _to_ _listen_ to what she had been saying the past thirty minutes. I almost felt sorry for the lanky guy as I watched him open and close his mouth a few times in what I have to admit was the undoubtedly best fish impression I had seen so far.

"So what do you think, Finn?" the brunette girl repeated the question as she observed her fiancé with dark chocolate eyes from under long black lashes.

The tall ex-football player squirmed awkwardly in his seat as he pressed his lips into a thin line that only helped prove the fact that he had no idea what his girlfriend was talking about. "Uh . . ." he managed to breath after a moment of pressing silence. "I, uh, think you're doing a great job, Rach. So . . . go with whatever you like." I guess his answer would have worked just fine with almost any question Rachel could possibly ask concerning the preparation of the wedding – well, except this one. I felt kind of sorry for the tall guy; he was in so much trouble.

"You want _me_ to write _your_ vows? Finn Christopher Hudson, you have got to be kidding!" the short brunette woman scolded, her intense stare practically burning a hole in her fiancé's face, as if the use of his full name wasn't enough to indicate he was in deep trouble. Poor Finn . . .

The scene was _almost_ entertaining, that is if I hadn't had tons of experience on how their 'funny' arguments tended to end – with Finn coming up with some cheesy and lame apology, Rachel overreacting and, finally, them breaking up. So, therefore, I decided to intervene before the love quarrel got real ugly. "Rachel, I think he might have been busy thinking about who he should ask to be his best man. That is a _huge_ deal, you know." Actually it wasn't. Finn would pick Kurt. End of story.

The former New Direction co-captain snapped her head in my direction, and for a short moment I almost thought she was going to slap me. She didn't though, thankfully, and instead she sucked her bottom lip in between her even, white teeth and begun to chew it thoughtfully. After a few long seconds of complete and utter silence—I didn't think it was physically possible for the short Jewish girl to be quiet for such a long period of time. She is like a shark that needs to swim to be able to breath, except instead of swimming she talks—she parted her lips with a distinct _pop._ "Quinn is right," she sighed in defeat, and I almost wanted to hit her for sounding so damn disappointed when she admitted that someone else was right. "I am sorry, Finn. I know it must be hard for you. There is a lot going on right now. You just recently learned how to tie your tie, and how to properly make chicken soup without burning down the kitchen. And now you have to decide who should be your best man . . ."

The tall boy smiled sweetly, happy that his fiancée was no longer mad with him. But then his smirk slowly started to fall as he got around to process what Rachel had _really_ said. "Did you just . . ." he began asking but soon trailed off.

She never did claim to love him for his brains, I reminded myself as the ex-quarterback stared dumbfounded out into space.

We continued to plan the wedding for an additional thirty minutes, with Rachel bouncing different ideas off of me as Finn continued to pretend he was intently listening, while he was really just thinking about which team would take home the game later that night: Baltimore Ravens or Pittsburg Steelers.

"There is just one more thing I'd like to ask you, Quinn, before we put the wedding plans aside for now," Rachel said and offered me a sweet and sincere smile. Barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes I instead arched an eyebrow as if asking 'what could we _possibly_ have missed?' and the brunette girl must have understood the grimace because she begun to chuckle heartedly. "I am a perfectionist, Quinnie Bear, if you haven't noticed yet," she quipped in a singsong voice and yet again a strong impulse to punch her on that crooked nose of hers washed over me. No one calls me Quinnie Bear unpunished!

"Anyways, while I expect Finn to ask Kurt to be his best man, which in my opinion is the best choice of best man one groom can possibly make; Kurt is close family, incredibly sweet, good-looking and has a stunning sense for fashion, I have had a more difficult time figuring out who would be the most appropriate pick for maid of honor. But after a lot of thinking it just hit me! It is you, Quinn!"

I was shocked. Never had I imagined that _Rachel Berry_ would ask _me_ to be her maid of honor. Before I could find words to form a reply, the short brunette started to talk again. "I know we haven't always gotten along – hell, I _hated_ you! I apologize for my language. But everything about you was so _freaking_ perfect and still you were so rude and mean to everyone." I opened my mouth to protest—to tell her that I wasn't perfect, to say that I had my reasons and so forth – but I was prevented once again by Rachel's singsong voice. "But that is all in the past. We are friends now, and I cannot think of anyone who I would rather have as my maid of honor than you. So, Quinn Fabray, would you please be my maid of honor?"

I blinked in confusion as I tried to wrap my head around what my former nemesis had just said. "Pretty, pretty please?" she begged with puppy-dog eyes and offered me a sweet and somewhat shy smile.

All of a sudden I found myself nodding and the next thing I knew Rachel jumped out of her chair, grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me in for a tight hug. With the table still positioned between us, the sharp edge of it digging into my thigh—I was fairly certain I was going to wake up tomorrow with an ugly purple bruise—she rocked us slowly from side to side with a wide smile plastered on her lips. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Finn smirking contently.

"It is going to be so amazing," Rachel mused aloud in a dreamy voice as she finally let go of me. I gasped for air for a few moments before I slowly nodded. Rachel, I tell you, is an expert on bone crushing and breathtaking hugs.

"I bet it will," I mumbled under my breath as I rose to go get the pot of coffee that was waiting on a trivet on the kitchen island. I honestly wasn't sure that I had made the right decision when I agreed to be Rachel's maid of honor, but someone once told me that if you give someone your word, you keep it. I wonder who that person was . . .

The pot was still half-filled with coffee and it was more than enough to fill Finn's, Rachel's and my own cup up to the rim. As I placed the purple porcelain pot down on the counter I figured it was time to change the topic of conversation. "So what's happened since last time I saw you?" I asked and walked back to the table.

"A lot," Rachel said with a wide smile.

"Nothing special," Finn noted at the exact same time.

I let my gaze skip between the two brunettes for a few moments, my eyes narrowing in confusion. Were they screwing with my head?

"I talked to my agent yesterday," Rachel explained with a smile. "He said that the performer originally intended to play the part of Elphaba was forced to turn the role down when she discovered she was pregnant, with _triplets_." Finn whistled quietly beside her. Triplets, wow, she wasn't going to get a quiet moment in years . . . Let's not even get into details about how exhausting the actual birth of the children must be. Ugh!

Tilting my head slightly to the side, I asked, "Are we talking about _Wicked_ now? Like Broadway_ Wicked_?" The short brunette woman nodded intently and it was obvious that she had a hard time to restrain herself with all the happiness that was bubbling inside of her. I smiled sincerely and grabbed her small hand. "I'm so happy for you, Rachel. I really am."

"Thank you!" she breathed and beamed. "This is so wonderful! It's my dream come true."

Next to her, Finn nodded slowly in agreement. "You've totally deserved it, Rach." He grabbed her other hand and squeezed it lightly. The scene made something warm spread through my body – I was actually genuinely happy for the two of them. I never thought I would feel something like that for my former nemesis and my ex-boyfriend.

"Not that I want to ruin this happy moment, because I don't, but what about you Finn? Are you sure absolutely _nothing_ special has happened?" I teased, but the tall ex-quarterback just shook his head.

Since he came back from his short tour to Afghanistan—a clavicle fracture sustained while playing ball with some men from his unit put an end to his four months stay at a US base north of Kandahar thirteen weeks too early—he had seemed a little down.

"I get out of bed, go to the bathroom, take a dump, eat breakfast, go to the bathroom, pee, eat lunch and watch TV," he informed in a monotone voice. "Nothing special." I watched him closely for a few long seconds. Was he joking with me?

"For real?" I asked slowly.

Finn went quiet for a long minute, and then he shook his head slowly. "I met someone the other day," he said, sounding a little more cheerful, and glanced over at his fiancée. She nodded as if to confirm that it actually happened.

God, I never realized just how whipped Finn Hudson had become.

Nevertheless, he began his telling of the event. "Last Tuesday—"

"Finn, it was Monday. . ."

"We went down to Freddie's, you know the little shop down by the park opposite our apartment building, to pick up some corn—"

Rachel sighed. "Bernie's . . . for canned sweet peas . . ."

"And guess who we ran into?" the tall ex-football player queered excitedly.

"How is she supposed to know? She wasn't there," Rachel said and rolled her eyes. "And we didn't run into anyone. Now she will think that you hit someone with the car, which by the way wouldn't surprise anyone, considering how you drive . . ."

Visual images of how Finn accidently hit a post officer while learning to drive suddenly came into my head. I don't remember who told me about it, but I think whoever told me did so somewhere around the same time as all the boys in Glee Club started picturing Coach Beiste in lingerie, chopping up meat, when they needed to take their minds off of us girls.

Across the table Finn was crossing his long arms over his chest defensively. His bottom lip puffed out in a sullen pout. "Hey, I'm a good driver! It wasn't me that accidently put the car into reverse instead of putting in the first gear during our trip to Cincinnati last summer. You know how much the repairs on the car cost me? Not to mention the picket fence and that weird looking garden gnome . . ." the tall lanky brunette muttered with a frown on his pale face.

I rolled my eyes theatrically. Finn and Rachel could be the sweetest couple, but they could as easily be counted as the most annoying people I have ever encountered. "Hey, guys! I'm still here!" I called out and waved my hands in front of their faces in hopes that it would distract them from continuing the argument. I wasn't interested in knowing what the heck happened to the creepy garden gnome. Those little things have always kind of freaked me out. I shook my head slightly to chase away the small humanoid creature wearing a pointy red hat, and an evil smirk, that had appeared on the windowsill right beside the potted hibiscus. He was winking to me and seductively licking his lips. With a wrinkled nosed and a disgusted look on my face, I turned to Finn and asked, "Who did you run into Finn?"

For a short moment the pale, tall man looked very puzzled, that is until his fiancée nudged him in the side and mouthed 'At Bernie's the other day.' A barely audible 'oh' escaped his lips and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes in annoyance. Yeah, that's right Finny. You were telling a story, I inaudibly groaned. "When we went to McKinley High, there was this dude; I think he transferred to our school during, like, junior year or something," Finn started. "He was, like, really blonde and had this _huge_ mouth, Kurt wouldn't shut up about how he could not possibly be straight . . . I mean, I was unsure too, at first, but—"

"Finn," Rachel interrupted in a hushed voice as she tugged at his long sleeved tee, "I think she remembers Sam. They did date, remember?"

"Yeah, right . . ." the lanky man mumbled and used his steak of a hand to rub at the nape of his neck, something I have learned he only does when he is uncomfortable with the situation of feel stupid, or guilty about something. "Anyway, we met Sam Evans."

"We _saw_ Sam Evans, honey," the petite brunette woman, to his left, corrected while she reached for the milk.

* * *

I had not heard his name in months, maybe even years. Last time I saw him was during the graduation ceremony in the auditorium of McKinley High in May of 2012. Okay, that was a lie . . . I had seen him at the Lima Bean, with a guy I thought I recognized from the football team, two weeks after graduation. I didn't speak to him though, I didn't even say 'hello'. I just made my order—the regular, a latte macchiato—grabbed my Styrofoam cup and left the coffee shop.

So where was I supposed to start when his name was suddenly brought up over coffee in my apartment, with Finn and Rachel.

How did he look – had he changed a lot? Where did he go to college or did he even go to college? What about his family, were they still poor and working double shifts to manage the rent? Did he have a job and an apartment, maybe even a pet or a girlfriend? Would he remember me, if we miraculously ran into each other? Was he still taking his clothes of for money? Did he still have those beautiful ocean colored eyes that changed color depending on the light in the room and what he was wearing? Had he forgiven me for cheating on him in junior year? And did he still sport that adorable boyish smirk that made my breath hitch in my throat the very first time I laid eyes on him?

The questions were many, but I wasn't even sure I wanted some of them answered, depending on what the answer would be. So instead I raised a hand to my face, tucked an escaped strand of blonde hair behind my ear and asked, "He's still a dork?"

Finn shrugged and wrinkled his forehead. "I don't know . . . I didn't get around to talk to him. Just saw him as he got into his car. But he's Sam Evans, you know, and he's still got that ridiculous haircut, so I guess he's still quite a dork."

"He had on one of those Captain America T-shirts," Rachel chimed in.

I smiled wearily and absentmindedly let the hand not occupied by a cup of steaming hot coffee travel up to my neck were it soon found the thin golden chain I still carried. Slender fingers, with nails painted a dark metallic purple, traced the fine gold chain until they reached where the small pendant was attached. The tiny golden cross my mother and father had given me the day I was born. It had become somewhat of a nervous habit of mine to pull at my necklace. I don't remember when I picked it up or exactly how many chains I had broken during the years.

Sam used to point out to me that whenever I was thinking real hard I would reach up and touch the small pendant, as if making contact with the shiny metal with my fingers would help my brain work faster. I told him he was being stupid and that I did _not_ do such a thing. I also told him that it could not possibly make my brain work more efficiently – it was just a necklace.

As my eyes registered movement in front of me, I snapped back from my thoughts to observe what was happening. Rachel was waving a petite hand in front of my face, with an inquisitive frown painted on her neat features. As I looked eyes with her, she smiled and put down her hand, the single golden band decorating her left ring finger reflected the few rays of sunlight that sneaked through the semi closed blinds that covered my windows. "You were daydreaming," she said in a curious voice. "What were you thinking about?"

For a few seconds I considered whether I should tell her the truth or not, she was after all one of my friends now. I ended up deciding against it though. What made me make that decision I am not entirely sure of. Maybe it was the old, pre-senior year, high school Quinn that decided to show up, the girl that kept not only her first name, but also her previous life as an obese girl with braces and glasses a secret from everyone.

"I was just thinking about school," I lied; well actually it wasn't really a lie, more like a semi lie, a half-truth. The BAU profilers on _Criminal Minds_ always say that half-truths are the best lies. I truly was thinking about school, just not the same school I made Rachel believe I thought about. "I can't believe I'm graduating in less than a month!" I added to further sell the lie, ahem, half-truth.

The brunette girl parted her lips into a wide toothy smile. "It's crazy! You're graduating, from college, from _Yale_!" With a Master of Fine Art degree from the acting program, I added quietly to myself. Maybe it was not that big of a surprise that Rachel swallowed line and sinker and everything on the little bait I threw out to get her to change the topic. The short diva has always been kind of naïve.

"You know," Rachel exclaimed after a short moment of causal chatting about what I want to do after I graduate, where I see myself in ten years and so on. "We should really throw a party, like a huge graduation party just for you, with all your closest friends invited. Doesn't that sound like an absolutely amazing idea?" she asked while skipping her gaze between me and Finn, who was finishing his fourth cup of coffee in less than one and a half hour. Poor boy would have to run to the bathroom to pee every ten minutes if he continued like that . . .

Capturing my bottom lip between my teeth I began to ponder the ex-New Direction co-captain's proposition. A party was a great way to meet and catch up with old friends I had not have seen in a while. Thinking through that aspect made the idea sound like an awesome initiative. However, parties with the Glee kids tend to derail . . .

I winced as memories of the awful hangover I got after Rachel's party in junior year came rushing back to me. That was the worst headache I have ever had! Pictures of Lauren throwing up all over poor Mike's shirt, a wasted Rachel kissing a completely intoxicated Blaine, a devastated Kurt trying to burn Rachel's head off with his stare alone, Puck grinding against a floor mop, Santana basically shoving her tongue down Sam's throat, and the reflection of myself in Berry's bathroom mirror as I tried to wipe the smudged mascara from my cheeks where it had, mixed with tears, trickled down.

Maybe a party wasn't that good of an idea . . .

Rachel gave me those puppy dog eyes though, the ones I guess she gives Finn every time she wants something that she knows he doesn't really approve of. Well, perhaps not the _exact_ same puppy dog eyes—that would be creepy—but something similar at least. "It will be _so _fun, Quinn! Think about how long ago it was since we last met Mike, Tina and Artie. And don't even get me started on the others!"

With a heavy sigh and a roll of the eye, I turned in my seat to glance at Finn. "Does this always work on you?" I asked blankly and he gave me a sheepish shrug in return. Obviously that was a 'yes'.

* * *

Author's note,

Hi guys! First chapter is up and I am super excited to see what you'll think about it :)

I just want to let you know that I have been trying to find out _how long_ you stay at Yale if you study acting or theatre, but I haven't managed to get a proper answer. So in this story people study acting/theatre at Yale for _four_ years and then they graduate.

The next chapter will probably be posted about a week from now.

Finally, I hope you liked this first chapter and please post a little review and let me know what you think! Thanks in advance! :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 2_

The days up until graduation had literally flown by and the next thing I had known, I had been standing there, on a stage, the bright lights from the spotlights burning my eyes. Dressed in a black graduation gown I had listened to the speaker call out my name as one of several others that were spending their last day as a student in the acting program at Yale. The emotionally charged moment had reminded a lot of what happened four years ago in the auditorium of William McKinley High. It was a bittersweet moment. Sweet because I was finally done with school. No more homework, no more exams and no more essays. But at the same time it was a little sad because I may not see some of the people I have had the pleasure of getting to know. Apart from bittersweet it was a little bit scary too. I was completely on my own now, alone in the big world. And if it is something I have learned in my almost twenty three years of living, it is that life can sometimes be very unexpected. One moment you can have the time of your life—everything is going your way—and the next you can find yourself at the bottom of a deep dark hole, in a depression so severe you believe you will never get out of it.

Some people may say it's the higher powers punishing or rewarding them for actions in their lives. Some may say it's just karma. Others will say that life becomes what you make of it and that no one besides you has the power over your life. It really doesn't matter what your beliefs are—which God you look to, or if you even have one—we all have something or someone we put the blame of our misery on. It might be Satan, bad karma, or something else. The object varies, but the principal is the same.

For me that object was one Rachel Berry.

I used to blamed the short perky brunette for most things that went wrong in my life. At one—not so bright, let's have that in mind—moment in my life I even tried to blame the one night stand with Puck in sophomore year on her. Not so nice, I know. But come on, it was partially her fault . . . Had Finn not all of a sudden gotten so damn fond of her I would probably never have agreed when Puck asked me to come over to his house to watch a movie.

I have got to admit, however, that she is not the major cause of that huge mess-up. She didn't brain wash me and force me to sleep with Puck, I did that freely. Kind of . . . I was drunk out of my mind, but I still could have said 'no' when he asked me to come to his house.

Not everything that has gone wrong in my life can be blamed on Rachel Berry. Today I know that it wasn't fair of me to even_ try_ to do that.

I snapped out of my thoughts as I caught sight of the short brunette practically skipping towards me. We had driven over to Blaine and Kurt's apartment about an hour ago to continue the celebrations. "I am so proud of you Quinn!" she squealed and engaged me in a bone crushing hug for what I believe most have been the tenth time tonight. Despite her modest height and her thin body she was strong though, like scary strong. I managed a half-smile as I tried to get her hair out of my mouth, with the help of only my tongue and my lips, while she pulled me even closer, pinning my arms between my body and hers.

"Thanks, Rachel," I gasped while trying to slink out of her embrace. I was already tired of all the hugging and pecking on the cheeks and I had only greeted about a tenth of the guests. "You're suffocating me, Rach. I can't breathe."

She quickly released her hold on me. "Oh, I am so sorry, Quinn!" she said with a worried frown plastered on her face. Dark chocolate eyes scanned me from top till toe. "I didn't hurt you, did I? It's just . . . I'm _so_ happy for you!" She pulled me in for another hug and I caught Finn shrugging beside her while he gave me a look of compassion.

When the short brunette finally let go of me I was basically out of breath, panting slightly as I tried to draw fresh air to my compressed lungs. I let my gaze travel around the room; it was maybe thirty or forty people there at the moment. An additional ten to fifteen souls had occupied the balcony overlooking the skyline of Manhattan. And according to Rachel we were still waiting on a few people to arrive. I had not expected such a large number of people to come to my graduation party. There were those of my friends who lived in New York and Brittany and Santana that I had expected to be there . . . but the other ones – it surprised me.

As I caught sight of Finn's handsome step-brother talking to a beautiful woman I had never before seen, I made a mental note to thank Kurt and Blaine for letting us use their apartment. When Rachel told me a couple of weeks ago that she though we should throw a party to celebrate my graduation from Yale, I thought she meant something along the line of a small and personal get-together, maybe just a dinner with our closest friends or something. But I should have figured that when Rachel suggested a party, she really meant a _big party_. And suddenly my one bedroom apartment wasn't large enough . . .

I turned to the petite brunette, who still hadn't left my side. "Wow, Rach, I don't really know what to say . . . This is amazing. Thank you!" I told her and smiled.

Rachel chuckled and patted my arm. "If you think _this _is amazing, just wait till Finn and I perform the song we have picked out for you!" she beamed and clapped her hands excitedly. I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Leave it to Rachel Berry to make it all about her . . .

"I am sure it will be _awesome_," I said as I inwardly groaned. It wasn't like I didn't think the performance would be good, because whenever Rachel Berry opens her gigantic mouth and sings, it sounds heavenly. And it had nothing to do with the fact that I didn't _like_ to hear Rachel sing – because I do, even though I don't like to admit it. I groaned because it was all so familiar. For a second it felt just like we were back in high school again. When I was sixteen a groan and a roll of the eye would be the natural response to _anything_ Rachel Berry said or did. Old habits die hard, I guess . . .

More time than that wasn't given me to ponder it further, before a slim young man in a completely white three piece suit with a black and white polka dotted bowtie walked up to me. "Heaven help me! Darling, you look absolutely fantastic!" Kurt greeted as he looked me up and down. Then he pulled me in for a friendly hug. Meanwhile Rachel politely excused herself by stating that she was going to check if Santana and Brittany were on their way.

"You don't look too bad yourself," I said to Kurt as we broke the embrace. The slender boy snickered in response before he playfully rolled his eyes.

"I better do. This attire cost me more than Finn's first car," he said and squinted at his step-brother. The taller man didn't seem to have heard Kurt though, as he mouthed a confused 'what?' when he caught us looking at him. Kurt shook his head slowly and then turned back to look at me. "As a matter of fact," he stated, "did you know that you just graduated from the same university as Adam Guettel, Lisa Hopkins and Robert Lopez." I shook my head in denial. I had barely ever heard of them.

"Who?" Finn queered with a puzzled expression etched on his face.

His step-brother rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed. "They are all Tony Award winning musicians. Rachel would have known who they are." Too bad for Kurt that Rachel had left us mere minutes ago to check if Santana and Brittany had arrived yet.

"Oh," Finn mumbled and I couldn't help but smirk. For the first time ever, I felt as clueless as Finn looked.

Kurt must have noticed our confused expressions because he took a deep breath, cleared his throat and prepared himself to give a lecture on Broadway performers and Tony Award winning entertainers. He didn't get very far though before something caught his attention and made the words die out. He smiled widely at something over my shoulder.

"So did Jordana Brewster, Edward Norton, Flash Gordon and Meryl Streep," a familiar voice said from behind me. It was deep yet sweet, with a slight Sothern twang to it, and I didn't have to turn around to check who it belonged to – I already knew.

"They have all won Tony Awards?" asked Finn surprised, leaving his mouth formed as an 'o'.

Kurt rolled his eyes as the other man answered, "No, dude. Jordana is like this really hot chick from _Fast and Furious_, you know, the one who plays Mia. Edward Norton did _Fight Club_ with Brad Pitt; he's the one who's actually starting Fight Club even though he believes it's this guy Tyler Durden, but that dude doesn't really exist in real life—"

"You're rambling, Sam." Kurt deadpanned and my heart almost skipped a beat when I heard Kurt mention _his_ name.

"Oh, sorry, dude! Uh . . . where was I?" the blonde mumbled with a lopsided grin.

"Fight Club?" Kurt continued in the same flat tone.

"Yeah, right . . . Flash Gordon's a comic book hero, and Meryl Streep, she is the lady that falls through the roof in the _Mama Mia_ movie," Sam explained.

"You've seen _Mama Mia_?" Kurt asked surprised and then he added in a lower voice, "Maybe you _are_ gay . . ."

Sam shook his head nonchalantly and smirked. The 'You sure you're not gay?' comment not bothering him at all. "Naw, Quinn made me see it," he said causally and shrugged his shoulders. And suddenly, at exactly that moment, the blonde boy seemed to notice I was standing there beside him. He gave me a quick smile and then brought a hand up to rub at his neck absentmindedly, a nervous gesture he shared with Finn, and basically every other guy I know. "Congratulations, or something . . . on the graduation, I mean," he said somewhat sheepishly and I couldn't help but smile at his sudden loss for words. He could really be socially awkward around girls sometimes, but for some reason I had always found that sort of adorable.

"Okay, he's defiantly _not_ gay," Kurt pointed out quietly, as he let his gaze skip from Sam to me, before he excused himself by saying he needed to go find Blaine before the curly haired ex-Warbler found more alcohol to refill his glass with. "We don't want another Blainchel-incident!"

I smiled faintly and nodded, but as soon as Kurt had left us I felt the awkwardness come creeping. And all I wanted to do was scream 'Kurt get your skinny ass back here!' or run away.

Luckily Finn saved the situation. "So, dude, what have you been up to lately?" he asked the blonde man causally.

The blonde brought the hand down from his neck and shoved it into his dress pant pocket. "Not much, you know," he stated with a shrug. "Work, school, football – that kind of stuff."

"You still play?" Finn queered with a small twinkle in his eye. I knew how much he loved to play football, and how devastated he got when he found out that he didn't receive the football scholarship he had worked so hard for in high school.

The shorter man nodded and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Mm-hm. First string quarterback."

"Really? That's awesome, man! I've always known you're good, not as good as me though, but still quite good," Finn clumsily said. I wanted to roll my eyes, punch Finn on the arm and tell him that if Sam hadn't gotten his shoulder dislodged in his first game, he would have easily taken Finn's spot as first string quarterback for the McKinley High Titans.

Sam just chuckled. "Yeah, whatever, man," he said and patted Finn on the shoulder. "We should get together and play sometime. Call Mike, Puck and the other guys and just . . . play."

"That sounds awesome, dude," Finn exclaimed and I saw that as a sign to leave. I didn't feel a need to stick around and listen to the two of them plan their bro-date.

"I'm gonna go and check on Rachel. Make sure that she doesn't embarrass herself," I mumbled in a voice barely louder than a whispered and started to make my way towards the balcony.

Behind me I could hear Sam asking Finn whether I actually said what he thought he heard. "Yeah," Finn mumbled in response, "they've changed a lot. She's changed a lot."

* * *

Santana and Brittany arrived rather late. The hot-tempered Latina blamed it on the busy New York traffic while the blonde mumbled something about her goldfish Goldie—Goldie after Goldie Hawn not because of the color of the fish—being in bad need of a bubble bath – it made no sense at all, like most things that come out of Brittany's mouth.

Nevertheless, the Unholy Trinity was finally reunited, and I have to say that that was probably the pinnacle of the entire evening, even though I did enjoy meeting Mike, Artie and Tina again whom I hadn't seen in months due to my busy schedule. Things never get boring when you're around Santana and Brittany though.

We spent a short while, maybe thirty minutes or so, talking about what was new in our lives and what was happening next. Santana had landed a main role in an indie movie by some director I had heard the name of but couldn't quite place, so she would head back to Los Angeles and Hollywood as early as at noon the day after tomorrow. Brittany on the other hand was still doing the same thing as she did last time I met her. She had opened a dance studio in Los Angeles together with Mike after she graduated—a year after me because of her bad grades—and she had been pretty busy teaching kids everything from street dance to ballet.

It made me glad to hear that my two best friends were doing things they enjoyed, but it made me even happier to see that they had managed to get pass the obstacles their relationship encountered a few years ago. They actually split up for a short period of time, until Santana realized she couldn't stand not being with Brittany even if it meant they had to struggle with a long-distance relationship.

"So Q what are you gonna do now?" Santana queered between sipping on her tequila and sending glances at the blonde to her left.

Thinking about it for a short moment I came to the conclusion that I had no idea what I was going to do. Sure, I wanted to act; otherwise I wouldn't have chosen the acting program. But, so far I hadn't received any responses from the auditions I had attended. A friend of mine had offered me work at his uncle's local bar, but I wasn't sure the waitress thing was anything for me, but at least I had something to fall back on.

So I shrugged and drew a deep breath. "I haven't really thought anything out yet," I mumbled and took a great sip of my champagne. The bubbles tickled the back of my throat all the way up my nose.

The raven haired woman arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and looked at me in disbelief. "That doesn't really sound like the Quinn Fabray I once hated the guts of," she pointed out and glanced sideways at Brittany, waiting for the tall blonde to agree with her. Brittany was too busy observing the tips of her long blonde hair though. She had grabbed a lock between her index and middle finger where she had curved it into a parenthesis.

Santana turned her dark brown eyes back to me. "Brittany agrees," she said.

I snorted. Santana may be many things, but she's no mind reader . . . Nevertheless, my Latina friend had a good point. The old Quinn Fabray would never have given that answer. She had everything in her life planned in great detail. "I guess you have a point though," I said and sighed while leaning back into the couch.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Puck and Finn talking by the huge flat screen TV. The Mohawk man was gesticulating vividly, pretending to throw an imaginary football. Boys . . . what is it with them and sports?

"Of course I do," Santana replied and brought the tequila glass up to her lips.

A comfortable silence fell over us, where we just sat there nursing our drinks while observing the other guests enjoying themselves. It was good to have people you could do that around—just sitting in silence—without feeling uncomfortable.

The sound of Finn's voice reached my ears again as he informed Puckerman that he had indeed bought an awesome car. Finn was completely head over heels in love with his Audi A4 sedan of 2014s model, but Puck argued that BMWs were a lot cooler. 'They're chick magnets, dude,' was the Jewish man's main argument, and I have to say that it was a rather weak one.

Slowly I turned my head, though just slightly, to get a better look at my former class mates. I hadn't noticed Sam coming back inside—he had followed Blaine and Mike out on the balcony a while ago—but when I looked in Puck and Finn's direction I caught sight of the blonde man standing there beside them, his hands buried deep in his pockets and a tiny half smirk on his lips.

"Oh, come on!" Finn exclaimed agitated. "You can't base all your arguments on which car is more popular with the girls! Besides, only the really materialized girls would go after a dude because he rides a BMW . . ."

Puck huffed loudly and leaned his back against the wall, right next to the large flat screen. "What do you have to say, Sammy boy?" the Mohawk man said and patted the blonde on the back with a little more force than necessary.

The blonde pulled his hands out of his pockets to rake through his hair, causing it to spike up in all direction, before he used his hands to smooth the tousled golden locks flat against his skull again. "Eh . . . I don't know," he mumbled, stressing the very last syllable in the sentence and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I've never owned any of those cars."

Puck gave him a raised eyebrow expression. "Come on dude. Don't be that annoyingly sweet Southern dude who _always_ has to please everyone . . . You gotta pick a side here!" Puck carried on in a teasing tone.

Sam did a good job at faking offended and for a second I really thought Puck's comment had hurt him. He gave himself away a few moments later though when he couldn't keep from smirking. Finn gave him a pat on the shoulder and mumbled something about how he mustn't fool him like that, because it was freaking him out. That just made the blonde's smirk widen.

The two brunettes—even though one of them didn't have much hair—went back to discussing cars and Sam pushed his hands back into his pockets while his eyes seemed to focus on something on the wall behind me. However, I realized after a moment that he wasn't staring at the wall at all, he was looking at me. An adorable lopsided grin was plastered on his handsome face.

As soon as our eyes met I quickly turned around and stared at the half-empty champagne glass on the coffee table in front of me. Soon I heard the cell phone lying beside the champagne glass buzz. I stared at it for a short moment before I threw a quick glance over my shoulder at the blonde. He just winked at me and flashed that smile that could get almost any girl to throw themselves at him.

Slowly I reached for the device and skillfully maneuvered into the message inbox. There were about seven unopened messages from those of my friends who couldn't come to the party, but I didn't bother to check any of them. Instead I went straight for the most resent one. It was from I number I did not recognize, but out of curiosity I clicked it open anyway.

_A picture will last longer, Q - Evans_

I felt my cheeks turn a dark shade of pink and my ears was turning hot. I kept my eyes glued to the small touch screen, because I was too embarrassed to raise my eyes and maybe catch his glance.

Mere milliseconds later a second text rolled in, sent from the same number.

_You look really great tonight by the way_.

"What's up with you, Tubbers? You look a little . . . flushed," Santana said and gave me a worried look. I felt my lower lip quiver as I tried to come up with a decent explanation; my mind was blank though . . .

* * *

Author's note,

So this is the second chapter and Sam makes his first real appearance. The chapter is a little slow in my opinion, but I felt like it needed to be included anyway. I hope you liked it anyway :)

Furthermore, I have no idea what a college graduation looks like, so any mentions about Quinn's graduation is just what I fantasize it looks like ;)

**Nicole: **No, this is not a sequel to _Not Making the Same Mistake Again, _but maybe I'll write a sequel to it one day. I hadn't really thought about it until you mentioned it ;)

I'm really gonna try to give you frequent updates, because I hate it when I find a story I really like and then it updates like every third month, or maybe not even that often. So I'm really gonna do my best to keep the updates regular and frequent :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 3_

When I was still an innocent little girl I dreamed about opening my own café and bakery. It would be a small and cozy one were people would feel welcome. I practically had everything planned by the time I turned eleven; the location, the color of the wall papers, the design of the furniture, and the curtain fabric. The small café would be owned by me and I would also be the one to work the counter and do most of the baking. A very close friend of mine, Bianca, would be my assistant and together we would become famous for our exquisite pastries and custom-friendly environment. Celebrities would hire us to bake for their weddings and birthday parties, and we would be asked to pose on covers for various magazines.

I suppose fame has always been something I have sought.

However, my dream of opening my own café basically went to grave when Bianca and I said goodbye to our six year long friendship. It was during the time when I still went under the name Lucy. I was slightly obese and some students at my school had recently started to pick on me and give me mean nicknames such as Lucy Caboosey.

That was when Bianca said she had had enough. It was on October thirteenth, I remember because it was the same day that my family's white Birman was accidently let out of our house. It got run over by my neighbor's car when he backed out from their garage. I was devastated! However, Bianca stated that my unpopularity would bring her down too and that she couldn't risk that. To be honest I am not sure that those words were originally her own. Bianca has never been very bright, and it sounded rather unlikely that she would have thought of such a thing. My guess is that either her parents—who never seemed to be very fond of me—forbid her to see me, or her new friends, a bunch of girls from another, fancier, school, didn't want her to spend time with a loser like me.

So, yeah, my dream of opening a café died with Bianca's and my friendship. At that point it hurt a lot to say the least. But to be honest, I think it was for the best. Bianca had a pretty bad influence on me. She always talked me into doing things I would normally never do. However, as was confirmed by my many mistakes in high school, I would turn out to be rather good at putting myself in complicated situations . . .

My meeting with Rachel, Kurt, Tina and Mercedes turned out to be one of those complicated situations.

It had been raining all morning when I finally pushed the heavy oak door open to the small café around the corner from Rachel and Finn's apartment building. Somehow the small but cozy café had turned into Rachel, Kurt and mine favorite meeting place. A strong reason could be the amazing Chai Latte they offered, which has turned into my regular order.

Dressed in a yellow babydoll dress that was almost completely obscured by a black trench coat, skin colored tights and mocha wedge boots I took in the welcoming atmosphere in the room. Warm air and a mild scent of freshly made pastries and newly brewed coffee found its way into my nostrils and as if on command my stomach made a purring sound to inform me that it was just past lunch time, and therefore time to get something to eat.

Almost immediately after I made it inside the small café I heard someone call my name in an overly happy voice. "Quinn! Quinnie Bear, over here!" it squealed and out of the corner of my eye I could spot Rachel waving vividly for me to see. _Discrete_ is definitely _not_ a very appropriate adjective to describe Rachel Barbra Berry.

I rolled my eyes and let out a small puff of air upon seeing how every other person in the room turned around to look at Rachel only to seconds later have their curious gazes wandering to me. I quietly made a mental not to later scold the brunette girl for using the horrible nickname 'Quinnie Bear' in public and for making such a big sceneof my entrance.

Quickly I made my way towards the table were my friends were seated, all while trying my best to shrug off my wet trench coat without knocking down something from the tables I passed. "Guys," I greeted with a small smile when I reached them. "sorry I'm a little late, but I got held up in traffic."

"This is New York, sweetie. There's always a lot of traffic," Kurt pointed out and used his right hand to reposition a tiny strand of hair that had fallen out of his short and stylish wavy comb over.

I offered him a slight smile. "Yeah, I've noticed." Then I turned to Mercedes, who was sitting next to Kurt. She had been one out of a few former New Direction members who hadn't been able to make it to my Yale graduation party; the other two who hadn't been there were Joe and Rory. "Mercedes," I said, "it's so nice to see you! I haven't seen you in years! How have you been? How's the Golden Coast treating you?"

The dark skinned girl rose from her seat to wrap me in a tight hug. "Oh, don't say that! Now you make me feel bad for not coming to your graduation party," she joked as we broke our friendly embrace. I gave her an apologetic smile and then she continued to talk. "But to answer your questions, I'm doing well, Los Angeles is _amazing_. You should all come down for a visit!" she said with a wide smile on her face.

Rachel, Kurt, Tina and I all nodded in agreement. Los Angeles later in the summer sounded awesome. I hadn't been on a vacation since before my mother and father got divorced. October the fifth this year would mark the seven year anniversary of their split. A feeling of sudden sadness rushed over me, but I did my best to hide it from my friends. I missed my family. I missed my mom. I missed my dad. I even missed my sister. Even though we were far from the perfect family, or even a functional family, they were still _my family_. I guess what they say is true; blood _does_ run thicker than water. Even if my father abandoned me when I needed him the most and my mother just stood there and watched when he kicked me out of the house, I still have a strong bond to both of them.

A gentle nudge in my arm brought me back from my thoughts and as soon as I turned my gaze back to the table it was met by four sets of worried eyes. "Are you okay, darling?" Kurt, who was seated to my left, asked gently. With a weak nod and a practiced smile I hoped looked as convincing as it did back in high school I tried to turn the attention away from me. "Are you sure?" the slender young man whispered in my ear after the others had returned to discuss the potential Los Angeles trip.

I gave Kurt another nod and mumbled, "Yeah, I'm fine." The young man trained his mélange eyes on me for a few very long seconds, and I felt like if he continued to stare at me for just a little longer he would be able to see right through me.

The slightly uncomfortable moment ended when Rachel spun her head in our direction and quipped happily, "So what do you think about that?" Automatically my brain started to search for words from their conversation that I may have subconsciously absorbed, words that could perhaps tell me what they were talking about. Unfortunately I came up blank, and by the look on Kurt's face—a confused frown—so had he. "Kurt? Quinn?" Rachel queered.

The boy next to me shook his head slowly. "I am so sorry girls, but I think I failed to perceive what you were talking about," he said and offered them an apologetic smile. "Would you mind filling me in on what I missed?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes theatrically. "Kurtsie, when did you become so inattentive?" The other girls around the table laughed heartedly before Mercedes begun to retell the conversation she had just shared with Rachel and Tina. Apparently it had been about the suggestion Mercedes made earlier, about us coming to visit her in Los Angeles. That suggestion had seemingly turned into a plan now.

It wasn't that I didn't want to go to California in the summer, because that had actually been a dream of mine since I was a little kid. I don't know why we never went there when I was little. For some reason my parents always insisted on traveling to some European city. I have seen Paris, Rome, London, Venice and Pisa, but I have never been to Los Angeles, Washington or Miami.

But for some unspeakable reason I found it hard to concentrate on what was being said around the table. Maybe I was sleep deprived. I had been having some trouble sleeping the last couple of weeks, something I blamed my sister Frannie for.

Frannie had called me a few days after graduation and I had assumed that she wanted to congratulate me or something similar. At least that would be what any normal sister would do. It turned out that my assumption had been wrong though. Very wrong. My older sister had told me in a flat tome that our father had suffered from a heart attack and that he was now hospitalized. Even though I had not seen nor talked to my father since he kicked me out of our house in sophomore year, I still felt my heart ache when I received the news. For a split second I had considered if I should ask my sister whether she thought it would be okay if I went to the hospital to visit him. He was after all my father. However, Frannie had beaten me to it by nonchalantly stating, 'Oh, there is one more thing I need to tell you before I go. Mother asked me to tell you not to come to the hospital. It would just upset father and the last thing he needs now is more worries. You understand, don't you, Lucy?'

It felt like being stabbed in the back with a dull knife. Six years had passed and the vast majority of my so called family still saw me as trouble and a disgrace to the family name. As icing on the cake, Frannie still refused to call me 'Quinn'. Probably because by calling me 'Lucy' she highlighted yet another part of me that put shame on our family.

With my sister's cold words still fresh in my memory I lifted my gaze from the cup of coffee in front of me to give the ongoing conversation between my friends another shot. Judging by the number of famous and not so famous designers' names that were mentioned it wasn't hard to guess that Kurt had spotted another fashion mishap somewhere among the other customers. I turned my head to glance over my shoulder in an attempt to find the unfortunate sole.

The woman wasn't hard to spot. Dressed in purple tracksuit bottoms and a turquoise racerback tank top with a grey and baby blue windbreaker draped over her shoulders she was kind of impossible to miss. To top off the 80's inspired workout attire she had her hair pulled up in a high side pony, and her feet covered with white running shoes.

Why she was in the café to begin with—usually people don't drop by a place that sells cookies and doughnuts on the way home from a run—was as much a mystery as how the hell she could allow herself to step out of her home looking like Olivia Newton-John in her Physical-video.

Everybody around our table laughed at some funny comment Kurt made, before the slender young man stumbled onto one of the issues closest to his heart: the importance of always trying to look your best. "Because you never know who will be there to see you," Kurt pointed out in a matter of fact tone. He was probably right though. At least it worked for Santana, who was now in Los Angeles shooting the last scenes for her debut movie. She had been spotted by an agent while on a shopping spree in a mall in Beverly Hills and said agent had later been the one to help her land a supporting role in the indie movie she was now in Tinseltown filming.

Suddenly, in the middle of Kurt's mini speech about how important it is to try to look your best on every occasion, Mercedes dark chocolate eyes widened and she excitedly squealed, "I know _that _smile!" Kurt and I both stared at her in a mixed expression of confusion and surprise, while Rachel and Tina leveled their gazes to peer over Kurt and my shoulders. Warm smiles crept up on their faces. "Hey, get your skinny white ass over here! Now!" Mercedes called out while waving wildly and I felt my cheeks heating up at the same time as a strong desire to crawl under the table and hide filled my body. Perhaps _discrete_ is not a very appropriate adjective to describe Mercedes Jones either . . .

Beside me Kurt slowly turned around to see what got the three girls opposite us so excited. "Oh, look at that," he breathed quietly and absentmindedly placed a warm and supportive hand on my arm.

I was just about to turn around when a deep voice behind me made me freeze in the middle of the movement. "Girls . . . Kurt," a tall blonde man greeted as he reached our table. "I didn't expect to run into you guys here! How are you?" he said and flashed his characteristic boyish grin. Even white teeth showed behind full pink lips.

Rachel was the first one to open her mouth, as always. "Sam, how lovely to see you too! Kurt, the girls and I are catching up on old times over coffee. Would you like to join us?"

Sam smiled sweetly and brushed a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes. "That sounds really great, Rach," he noted in a sincere tone. "But I'm kind of in a hurry. Just dropped by to get my daily dosage of caffeine, you know," he said and held up the large Styrofoam cup he clutched in his left hand. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I watched his slimmed white long sleeved T-shirt tighten over his bulging bicep.

"Oh, that's too bad," Rachel said with a pout and Mercedes and Tina nodded in unison.

The tall blonde man nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry to disappoint you, ladies . . . and Kurt. But I really need to go. My boss doesn't take lightly on late arrivals," he muttered with a roll of his eye. "But, you know what . . . I'm thinking about throwing a party on Saturday. It's just a small thing, only a bunch of my closest friends are invited. You're all welcome," he said and smiled. "Just text or email me or something, and I'll send you the address."

A wide grin appeared on Rachel's face. "Oh, that sounds fun!" she said in a sing-song voice before she quickly added, "Count Finn and me in!" Out of the corner of my eye I could see how the short brunette woman's gaze flickered towards me and a tricky smile grew on her face. "Oh, and Quinn's coming too!" she informed in a chirping voice.

I felt my cheeks turn a dark shade of crimson and I inwardly scolded the short brunette woman for putting me in this situation. She knew I didn't have any plans for Saturday – we talked about it yesterday on the phone. Rachel Berry was setting me up!

The brunette woman must have felt my eyes burning on her skin because she turned her head towards me and smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, ok-ay," Sam stuttered and absentmindedly licked his plump bottom lip. "That's awesome. Uh, I'll see you guys on Saturday then."

Rachel nodded and grabbed the spoon in her coffee cup and started to stir the black liquid absentmindedly. "Absolutely! I'm so excited! Take care, Sam!" she said as he waved us goodbye and headed for the exit.

The second he disappeared out of view I turned to glare at the short brunette woman who was seated at the other side of the table. If looks could kill, Rachel Berry would have been hanging on to life only by a thin thread at that point. "What?" she queered with a devious smirk plastered on her petite face.

I narrowed my eyes and ground my teeth in a sour grimace. Under my breath I sullenly muttered, "If anything goes wrong you're paying dearly for it Berry . . ."

* * *

Three days after my meeting with Kurt, Rachel, Mercedes and Tina at the café, I found myself entering my small apartment after my first day at work. I know I had promised myself that I wouldn't accept the offer Landon, a friend of mine, had presented me with, but I was getting a little short on money and I couldn't just sit around and wait for some movie director to call me.

With a loud sigh I dropped my handbag on the kitchen counter and begun to pull off my black coat, but of course the golden bracelet I wore got caught in the lining of the coat sleeve and I ended up tearing a two inch rip in the beautifully embroidered lining.

What a lovely day . . .

With my coat finally hanging on a hanger in the closet and my shoes pulled off and parked near the door I strode into my bedroom and grabbed my laptop. When I have had a really shitty day—like today—there is only one thing that can cheer me up – good music. So I turned my beloved computer on and logged onto my Spotify account – thank God for those Swedish entrepreneurs!

I settled on a _9 to 5_, an old Dolly Parton classic that always cheers me up. Then I brought my laptop with me into the kitchen where I placed it on the dinner table while I walked over to the cup boards and pulled out a mug. It was a white porcelain mug with a smiling Mickey Mouse printed on it. I remember my mother bought it for me when we visited Disney Land Paris. A bittersweet smile played on my lips for a brief moment as I filled the cup with cold water, dropped a tea bag in it and placed it in the microwave oven.

While I waited for my tea to get ready, I checked my email account and logged onto Facebook to see if anything interesting had happened during the day. However, not so surprisingly about ninety present of the posts consisted of photographs showing beautiful beaches or pools partially obscured by tan naked feet, new born babies, visibly tipsy people posing with bottles of beer or cider, and the occasional egopics.

I hit the logoff button at the same time as my microwave pinged.

Less than a minute later, with a steaming hot cup of chamomile tea in hand, I sat back at the dinner table. _9 to 5_ had ended and been replaced by Madonna's super hit _Material Girl_ as I opened up Skype. I wasn't looking to call anyone in particular, basically just opening the program up out of habit, much like most people—me included—do with Facebook and Twitter when they log onto their computers. However I noticed the little green icon in front of Santana's user name and decided to call her.

To be honest I wasn't expecting her to accept the call, I knew how busy she had been over the past couple of weeks. So I was a little surprised when the video link opened and her beautiful face appeared on my computer screen. "Hey bitch!" Santana greeted with a wide grin when the connection had been set properly.

I rolled my eyes theatrically. What kind of friend greets you with 'bitch'?

"You're not gonna say 'hello' to me, Q? How rude!" the raven haired woman teased and tilted her head to the side.

A quick laughter bubbled up through my throat. "Well, hello there Santana," I said with a smile. The Latina rolled her eyes. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty damn well, if you don't mind me swearing," she answered and grabbed a bottle of what I believed was water and brought it to her lips. "It is awesome, Q. The filming. It is amazing!" My smile widened as I listened to my old friend describe her new life as an aspiring actress. I was so proud of her!

"But enough about work," Santana said after a while and raked a hand through her silky black hair. "Listen, I'm getting a week and a half off from filming and Britts and I was thinking about making another trip up to the Big Apple," she explained. I mumbled an inaudible 'okay', as the Latina was drawing a deep breath. "So I was thinking, what about you me and Brittany grab a cup of coffee? Maybe at that little café you and Teen Gay always talk about."

Inwardly I chuckled; I found it funny that Santana was still referring to Kurt as Teen Gay, though she was about as straight as the Hummel boy. "Yeah, sure!" I said and smiled. "That sounds great!" Sure, it hadn't been long since I last saw Santana and Brittany, but I already missed them like crazy, though I would probably never say that to them. Those two women were my best friends, my sisters. We were the Unholy Trinity for God's sake!

"Awesome!" Santana said and grabbed a lock of hair between her left hand thumb and index finger. "So how's life treating you now that it's been a few weeks since we last met?"

I shrugged. There wasn't much to say. "Not very differently I guess."

"Have you managed to find a job yet?" she queered.

My bottom lip was sucked in between my teeth were I chewed it for a few long seconds. "Well," I mumbled sheepishly, "I'm working part time at a local bar."

The look on the raven haired woman's face was priceless. Her eyes widened and I could literally see her jaw drop. "What?" she exclaimed in something I can only describe as a mixture of surprise and terror. "You're strippin', Fabray?" Her large dark brown eyes blinked slowly in astonishment at me. "I, I though Lady Lips' scary stories from the dump he worked would have scared you off from doing such a thing . . ." she mumbled confused.

"Whoa, calm down, San. I'm not stripping. I'm a waitress," I tried to explained.

Santana stared at me through the computer screen for a moment before she slowly shook her head. "That's the gateway, you know," she mocked with a smug smirk that made me want to roll my eyes again. "Anyways, speaking about stripping, is there a new man in your life yet?" The curiousness in the Latina's voice was impossible not to detect.

Slowly I shook my head. "No," I whispered. Truth be told I was not sure I was ready for another relationship yet. I just couldn't risk giving my heart to someone that would just go around and break it. Sure I have been responsible for a fair share of heart aches. I still feel sorry for what I did to Finn during our first relationship and then what I did to Sam. So maybe I deserve getting hurt . . .

A loud sigh was heard from the computer speakers. "_You_ are lacking some serious self-esteem, Fabray" Santana noted in a flat tone. "You need to get laid!" I almost choked on my tea when she said that. I had to beat hard on my chest to clear my windpipe from the hot chamomile flavored drink. "I know you're not into _that_, but if you were and I didn't date Britt, I'd totally help you out," the Latina carried on in a serious voice. "But I'm sure Mohawk, Fetus Face and Trouty Mouth would happily volunteer. They would probably even be willing to share you. You know, I actually had a dream about that, which you think would be kind of awesome, but really, it was just of gross . . ."

My right eyebrow instinctively rose as I listened to my best friends disgusting ideas. She had always been kind of kinky, but I swear that it has gotten worse by the years. Or at least I hope she didn't have those kinds of imaginations when we were still on the Cheerios and getting changed in the same locker-room.

Santana cleared her throat loudly and stroke her jaw thoughtfully. "But if I were you," she mused aloud. "I'd definitely pick Puckerman. Or Guppy Face. At least they've got great bodies. Lumps the Clown – not so much . . . But Fish Face would definitely be my number one pick. He's got some serious abs, girl. But I never did get around to find out how he was in bed . . . Huh, such a shame. Broke my record."

I felt my cheeks turn a slight hint of pink and my ears were beginning to get hot. "Oh my God, Santana! You are sick!" I half-whispered half-screamed as I brought my left hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Oh, come on, Q! Don't say you haven't fantasized about having that rock hard body lying naked on top of you while his full fishy lips brush against your neck and his rough manly hand with long piano fingers roam up and down your hot and desperate body," the Latina hummed.

I swallowed hard. "Uh, you seriously have a problem Santana," I stated and tugged at the golden chain that hung around my neck.

She laughed heartedly at me before she leaned back in her chair. "Well, then I'm not the only one," she murmured and smirked at me. "Well, it's getting late and I've gotta get my beauty sleep. So see you in a week, Tubbers?"

I snorted a laugh and then nodded. "Yeah, see you in a week."

"Good." Santana leaned forward in her seat. "And, Q, loosen up a little. Live. You've only got one life, you know. It may end unexpectedly soon, you of all people should know that," she said and nodded slightly to herself as if she was trying to convince not only me but also herself that her words were true. I knew they were though. "I love you and take care!" she said and blew me a kiss, before the screen went black.

I sighed loudly and leaned back against the hard back of the kitchen chair. "I love you too, San," I mumbled.

In the background Cyndi Lauper was singing:

_When the working day is done,__  
Oh, girls,  
They wanna have fu-un.  
Oh, girls,  
They wanna have fun . . ._

* * *

Author's note,

First of all I'd like to apologize for the wait, but I have been super busy this past week. . .

Anyways, this chapter is a lot about laying the foundations for what will come in later chapters and if you were very attentive you may have noticed that I introduced a few new characters, one of which will play an important role later on. Guess who?

I'd really like to know what you think so far so please leave a little comment! :)

**SamEvans17:** Thank you! I really try to make the characters act and speak in a similar way to what they do in the show. Because that's what we've fallen in love with right? :) But sometimes it's hard to do that, but it's nice to see that you think I've succeeded somewhat in doing that :)

**dosqueen67:** I don't like stories that feel rushed, but at the same time I don't want them to be too slow and boring either. However, I think I have a tendency to write longer chapters than necessary, or at least that's a feeling I have. Now I'm rambling… Anyways, it's nice to hear that you liked the part with the text, because originally they weren't supposed to be there. It was just something that came to me right before I uploaded the chapter ;)

**RJRRAA:** Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it! :)


	4. Chapter 4

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 4_

Kurt is not the only person I know who believes that trying to look your best on every occasion is almost as important as remembering to get enough sleep or food. My family has always been obsessed with what impression we made on the people around us. Nothing but the best was ever good enough. The simple word _perfect_ was the only word that my father thought of as acceptable to be mentioned in the same sentence as our last name. To make a mistake was an unacceptable sin.

Perhaps it was not that strange that I grew up to become such an insecure and unstable teenager. When you grow up under circumstances where failure is completely unacceptable and where you have never been allowed to express something as innocent as doubt or uncertainty, the fear of making a mistake easily grows so heavy and overwhelming that it instead leads you to make mistake.

The word _perfect _was the one that was nagging at me as I fumbled to put on the black high heeled pumps Kurt had helped me pick out during our last trip to one of New York's more exclusive shoe stores. I wanted to look perfect, if even just for one night I wanted to pretend to be the perfect girl.

I had spent almost two hours trying to pick out a dress to wear and more than once had I considered grabbing my cell phone and dial Rachel to tell her that I had caught a bad case of the stomach flu. However, I knew that that wouldn't work. Rachel Berry was not stupid. She wouldn't buy my evasion even if I used my best acting skills to sound really weak over the phone.

So here I stood, in front of my full body length mirror, trying on the fourth dress for tonight. A deep frown was plastered on my face.

I knew I needed to hurry up. Finn and Rachel were already seated by my kitchen table waiting for me to step out of my bedroom and announce that I was ready to go. If I knew Rachel correctly he was probably staring at the clock on the wall right now, willing it to move slower so that we would make it to the party in time. The image of the short brunette woman impatiently tapping her foot against the leg of the chair while she kept sneaking glances towards the clock made me smirk despite myself. I bet she was annoying the hell out of her fiancé by now.

The smile didn't last long on my rosy lips though, as I looked eyes with my reflection. "Do I look okay?" I heard myself ask quietly as I observed the slim blonde woman that was staring back at me through the full body length mirror that occupied one of the corners of my bedroom. She was dressed in a blue satin dress that reached just above the knees and a pair of black Christian Louboutin pumps.

The unexpected sound of someone else's voice startled me. "You look breathtaking," it said admiringly and I glanced over my shoulder to see Rachel entering my bedroom dressed in a red cocktail dress. She was smiling at me.

"You don't think it's too much?" I asked uncertain and I let my gaze wander back to inspect my reflection in the mirror. "Maybe I should go for the dress Tina bought me for my graduation?" I mumbled and tried to picture how I would look in the black ruffled trim neckline wrap dress that currently hung in between the golden dress I had worn at Regionals in sophomore year and the red dress I had worn at Nationals in senior year.

The short brunette moved across the room so that she was standing right next to me, looking at our reflections in the full length mirror. She made eye contact with my duplicate and offered her a kindhearted smile. "I think you look beautiful, Quinn," she said in an honest voice before she spun around and walked over to the chest drawer that held everything from socks and underwear to jewelry and scarfs depending on which drawer you pulled out. Selecting the top drawer she spent a few long seconds rummaging through its content before she seemed to find what she was looking for. "I am sure there won't be a single boy there who won't be checking you out," she pointed out as she pushed the drawer close and returned to stand next to me.

I scoffed and shoot her an incredulous look. Once upon a time that may have been true, in junior year in high school for example, but that was a long time ago now. I shook my head slowly. "Have you forgotten that half the people we know are homosexual?" I queered blankly before I turned my body to the left to see how I looked in profile.

Rachel tried to suppress a girly giggle, but failed brutally as usual. She glanced at me with her deep chocolate eyes and smirked. "Trust me when I say that I have long ago lost count on the number of times I have caught both Kurt and Blaine checking you out," she snickered before moving in behind me. "Lift up your hair," she ordered quietly and without questioning why, I did as she had asked me. A small smile was playing on her lips as she opened the clasp of a silver necklace I had been given by her and Finn as a Yale graduation present only a month ago. "I'm straight and even I catch myself staring at you sometimes," I heard the petite brunette say as she placed the necklace around my neck and closed the clasp.

I turned my head to glance at her skeptically and my eyes must have done a great job at conveying the thoughts that were on my mind because her red lips curled up at the corners and her eyes smiled at me. "I am not secretly bisexual and I am not crushing on you, Quinn. You don't have to be worried," she chuckled heartedly and placed a warm hand on my shoulder. "I love Finn from the bottom of my heart. But the point I am trying to get through is that you really are beautiful. No matter what you wear or what mood you're in you always look amazing. I envy that," she said and snickered quietly to herself. "You know, I would never have been able to pull of that Goth-look with the pink hair like you did."

The comment made me laugh. I had almost forgotten about that sequence of my life. "I am sure you would have rocked the pink highlights," I joked and turned back to stare at my reflection. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I tried to calm my unusually anxious nerves. It wasn't like me to get this nervous because of a small party.

The former New Directions co-captain checked her iPhone for the time. The digital numbers read eight thirty-two. We were getting pressed for time. I heard the shorter woman's heels clatter against the floor as she walked across my bedroom to pick up the small black leather purse that was resting against the door of my walk-in closet. With a sympathetic smile she handed the purse to me whilst she used her other hand to pat me on the shoulder encouragingly. "We need to go, Quinn. Or we will be late. Finn's probably already halfway through the front door," she told me slowly. I nodded and gave my reflection one last look over. "Don't worry. He's always had a soft spot for you," Rachel mumbled almost inaudibly before she started to pull me towards the door. And to be honest I'm not even sure that is what she really said either, but if it was, the 'he' she was talking about definitely wasn't Finn.

* * *

When Rachel, Finn and I first stepped out of the stereotypic yellow cab at the address Finn had scribbled down on a green little post-it note I honestly thought we had ended up at the wrong location. The apartment building the taxi had dropped us off in front of was one of the nicest I had ever seen. Located in what was probably one of this part of the city's newest neighborhoods. Beside me I heard Finn whistle in amazement.

Rachel shifted her weight from one foot to the other beside me while she tugged at the strap of her handbag. "Are you sure this is the right address, honey?" she asked skeptically as she tilted her head upwards to take in the entire building. "This does not seem like the kind of place were our Sam would live," she stated and I had to agree with her. The giant building with its white stucco façade and large glass balconies did not resemble the kind of place I had imagined our goofy Sam Evans to live.

The tall ex-quarterback knitted his dark eyebrows together and mumbled something too muffled for Rachel and I to perceive before he shoved his large hand into his pant pocket to dig out the crumpled little green piece of paper. "I'm pretty sure it said this address," he murmured as he struggled to unfold the small post-it note. When he finally succeeded, I saw him wrinkle his forehead and squint as he slowly moved the little piece of paper closer to his face before he began to move it away from his face just as slowly.

Had we not been in a hurry I would probably have pulled out my phone to film the whole scene. Finn looked absolutely hilarious. I drew in a deep breath to contain myself from giggling at the tall brunette man's troubled expression. "Do you need any help?" I asked teasingly and arched an eyebrow.

Beside me Rachel rolled her eyes theatrically. Then she sighed and tilted her head slightly backwards. "Even if he would let you help him there is no way you would be able to read his horrible scrawl," she mocked and placed her hands on her hips. "Come on Finn let me take a look at the note. We haven't got all night." After a short moment of silent battle between the two brunettes Finn finally handed Rachel the little post-it note, though he did so reluctantly. She grabbed her cell phone and used the flashlight application to provide better lighting. A few long seconds passed as Rachel struggled to read her fiancé's scrawl, but eventually she looked up at Finn and me and nodded. "We're at the right place."

I felt myself frown. "Are you sure?" I asked, finding it hard to believe that Sam would ever pick a modern New York condo before a small suburban home. But I suppose everyone could change, I sure had so why wouldn't Sam be able to do that.

The petite brunette nodded rapidly which caused her curled hair to bounce on her shoulders. "Unless Finn got the address wrong when he wrote it down we should be in the right place," she mused aloud and put her cell phone back into her purse. Beside her Finn grounded his jaw as if he fought to restrain himself for uttering a remark he would probably regret later. I smirked at them, thinking that some things will never change.

The elevator ride was made in complete and utter silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable one, but it surely got me a little anxious. I knew Finn wasn't mad with Rachel or vice versa. Trust me when I say that it is impossible to not notice when they are having a fight. But then again it was quite obvious that she had hurt him a little by teasing him for both his handwriting and for his absentmindedness.

I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the tall brunette man as we stood there and listened to the slight buzzing from the wires that pulled the steel box towards the eighth floor. I was aware of how much effort he put in to try to make Rachel happy and I also knew how much it pained him to see that he couldn't always reach up to what seemed to be her expectation. Of course I was also very much aware of the fact that, in Rachel's eyes, Finn always reached those expectations no matter what he did.

As the elevator slowly came to a stop on the eighth floor I quietly prayed that the evening wouldn't take an unexpected twist and turn into a disaster. Frankly, I don't know why I did that—asking higher powers to make sure nothing spiraled out of hand—because I wasn't the irresponsible head-cheerleader Quinn anymore. Nowadays I was always in complete control over every situation.

Rachel took the initiative to knock on the robust front door. But then again, she was Rachel Berry, so of course she would be the one to take the initiative.

* * *

"You're an Ohio State fan?" Finn queered mockingly as he caught sight of a large framed photograph that showed the Ohio State University team dressed in its red jerseys and grey pants. The picture was obviously taken during some kind of celebration judging by the wide grins on the young men's faces and how the team had hoisted one of its players up on their shoulders. "I always thought you liked Middle-Tennessee or something since that's where you're from . . ." the tall brunette mused aloud as he continued to inspect the photograph.

Sam chuckled softly as he came up to stand behind me. The sound of his deep voice and the faint smell of his aftershave made my body tingle in a way it hadn't done in years. "I've always liked both of them. To me Ohio is as much 'home' as Tennessee, if not more. Lima was where I grew up to become who I am today," the blonde stated causally, but the emotion in his voice didn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. I even thought I heard Rachel breathe, 'Oh that is so sweet, Sam,' in a soft voice as she reached up on her tiptoes in an attempt to peer over Finn's shoulder.

Beside me I heard someone scoff. "That was real cheesy, dude," Puck remarked and deliberately bumped his shoulder into Sam's as he passed the blonde boy. Sam just rolled his eyes theatrically as he watched the former McKinley High residential bad boy walk out on the balcony where some of Sam's other friends were seated.

"You know, it actually sounded a little . . . gay," Finn pointed out and as soon as the word left his mouth he received a punch to the shoulder and a grim look from Rachel. The tall brunette shrugged and glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Kurt wasn't close enough to eavesdrop. It wasn't that he looked down on gay people or anything; hell almost fifty percent of his closest friends were gay and let's not forget that Kurt was family. But to be eloquent and to use smooth words like that was often considered a stereotypic characteristic for gay people for some reason.

Again the tall blonde just rolled his eyes, and I could barely restrain myself from chuckling at the two ex-McKinley Titans. Their brotherly bicker was endearing.

"But really? A Buckeyes fan?" Finn mumbled to himself as he turned his gaze back to the photograph. It reminded him so much of when McKinley Titans won the championship in junior year. The team had grabbed him and hoisted him up on their shoulders as they had celebrated what was probably the biggest thing to ever happen in William McKinley High's sport history. Everybody had been chanting his name and wanting to pat him on the back and congratulate him on the win. I knew that moment had been one of the most amazing experiences in his life.

Then I caught something flicker in the tall brunette's eyes. A flash of confusion rushed over his features and he wrinkled his forehead. He squinted and leaned in closer to the picture like an old man that had forgot to bring his glasses. "You know, this dude looks awfully a lot like you," he mumbled and turned his head to gaze at the rest of us.

Quickly Rachel walked up to stand next to him. She observed the picture for a long moment before she turned to face the rest of us. With her hands firmly placed on her hips and her lips pressed into a small pout she eyed Sam. The blonde squirmed slightly behind me before he let out a small nervous chuckle.

"That, Finn, is because that 'dude' _is_ Sam," Rachel pointed out in a matter of fact tone. "I think you have some explaining to do, Blondie."

Sam gulped and offered the short brunette a lopsided grin. "Surprise," he mumbled sheepishly.

Almost an hour was dedicated to Sam explaining what the heck he did hoisted up on the shoulders of a bunch of NCAA football players. It turned out he had been offered a full scholarships to Ohio State, but neglected to tell anyone about it because he wasn't sure he was going to accept it because of his family's situation. We also found out that Puck was the only one of us former New Direction members who knew about Sam's professional football career. Apparently the mohawked young man had attended a Bucketeye's games and spotted Sam out on the field and then confronted the blonde about it after the game.

"So Puck was the only one who knew," Rachel asked for a second time, a small hint of hurt in her voice. Sam nodded his head. "But you didn't tell us?" Another nod from the blonde. "But Sam this is something _so_ big, you can't just hide it from us," the brunette whined and gave him her kicked puppy dog eyes which caused Sam to chuckle and Finn to glare sideways at his fiancé.

Rachel Berry was usually not a woman to lay eyes on other men, but with a little alcohol in her system those blocks were easily dropped. Just ask Blaine, he got to experience that during a party at Rachel's house in junior year that went a little out of hand. Taken into account that the short brunette had already drowned three shots of tequila, one glass of wine and taken a few sips of Finn's scotch it wasn't too surprising that she was now starting to flirt with other men.

Obviously I was not the only one who noticed Rachel flirtatiously flutter her long eyelashes at Sam as she for the third time asked him why he hadn't told us about his career as a professional football player. Finn had noticed his fiancé slight change in behavior too and taken a step towards her to drape a long arm around her shoulders. "But dude don't you have like a year left of college or something?" Finn queered confused as always, but it was probably the only thing he could think of to say to stop Rachel from asking Sam a fourth time why he hadn't already told us about his football career.

Sam nodded slowly while sucking in his full bottom lip between his perfectly white teeth to chew on it for a short moment. "Yeah. I mean I could. But I kinda got drafted so . . ." he admitted shyly before he drifted quiet.

"You got drafted?" the tall brunette exclaimed surprised. "Like _NFL_ _drafted_?" Sam nodded. "Dude, that's awesome!" Finn said and wrapped the blonde in a tight hug which surprised Rachel and me just as much as it surprised Sam.

Sam blushed a little, and I couldn't help but think that it was probably the most adorable thing I had ever seen. But, whoa! Hold on a second! Did I just say Sam Evans blushing was the most adorable thing ever? Oh God, I'm so screwed . . .

"Yeah, but you know, then came the lock-out . . . and here I am," the blonde said with a shrug and threw a quick glance at me.

When the topic of conversation shifted to one about Finn and Rachel's upcoming wedding, I decided it was time for me to leave the small group and grab some fresh air. It wasn't that my friends' wedding didn't interest me or that I didn't approve of their decision to get married at such a young age; in my opinion they were the perfect match – sure they had their little love quarrels and moments were I really though one of them was going to kill the other, but so does every couple. It was just that I heard them talk about their wedding every single day! Well, I was after all the maid of honor so I guess it was my obligation to sit and listen to them, but still . . . I could do with _one _night without talks about dresses, cakes, invitation cards and so forth.

I nodded polite 'hellos' to the people out on the balcony, most of whom I didn't know, as I gracefully maneuvered towards the balcony railing. When I reached it I got pleasantly surprised; I hadn't expected to be able to see that far, the apartment was only located on the eight floor. But, what a view it was!

"It's the reason I bought this place," Sam's voice said from behind me. He startled me a little, causing me to grab onto the railing tightly as if he would throw me over the edge if I didn't hold on thigh enough. He must have noticed because a wide grin formed on his face and then he motioned with his head towards my hands. My knuckles were already turning a ghostly white shade. "Paranoid much?" he teased and lifted a questioning eyebrow.

God, I hated cocky Sam! Or at least I wanted to. That's the same thing though, right? Okay, maybe not . . .

I felt my bottom lip quiver as I tried to find a decent remark, but surprisingly I came up blank. Perhaps I was starting to lose some of that HBIC attitude that helped me get through high school without becoming someone else's personal laughingstock. When the tall blonde man then stretched out his hand towards me, holding a glass of white wine, I found myself accepting the glass even though I had promised myself not to drink so much.

"So," he begun with a drawl, "is there any particular reason why you're hiding out here while everyone you know is inside having a good time?" He glanced at me for a few seconds before he let his gaze drift out over the brightly lit New York skyline. The distant sound of police sirens and music created a comfortable background noise that seemed to match the view perfectly.

Slowly I drew in a deep breath and leaned my elbows against the cold balcony railing. I shook my head gently, causing the blonde curls to lightly bounce on my shoulders. "No," I mumbled and let my left hand index finger trace the rim of the wine glass I was holding, "but I could ask you the same."

Sam chuckled softly and copied my body position by leaning forward to support his elbows on the railing. His shoulder brushed against mine as he leaned into the railing and I could practically feel the heat radiating off his body. The action was completely platonic and probably nothing but an accident yet it was so freaking intimate.

"I just needed some air," he explained and brought the beer bottle he was clutching in his right hand up to his lips and took a careful swig of the amber liquid.

For some inexplicable reason I found it fascinating that Sam would choose a regular Heineken instead of a glass of the fine and expensive scotch whiskey he was offering the other men. Somehow it just proved that no matter how hard other people tried to change him or how much he fought to hide his real him, he would always be the same old Sam. As long as it didn't concern his body he had never really cared about what people thought of him and I found it gratifying to see that at least some things never change.

We talked a little about how different it was to live in New York in comparison to Lima and what restaurants or cafés were worth visiting and which ones were not so pleasant, as we both finished our drinks. I was getting a little tipsy but still I watched in silence as Sam turned around to refill my wine glass. Perhaps it was the way his white V-neck tee shirt hug his muscular biceps or how the thin fabric allowed me to see how the muscles in his back moved as he unscrew the cork of another wine bottle that made my entire body tingle in a way it hadn't done in years.

Or maybe it was just the effect of all the alcohol?

Anyhow, I had to bite down on my lip to stop the foolish grin that was trying to sneak up on my face as I dropped my gaze down to below his waist line. Then Sam turned around and I was forced to level my eyes to meet his. He handed me the now filled wine glass with an absolutely adorable smile on his face. "Were you," he begun and narrowed his eyes at me while his lips curled into sly grin. "Were you checking me out?"

It felt like being hit in the head with a frying pan. The somewhat dull and relaxed feeling induced by the alcohol was drained from my body and replaced by a growing discomfort. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, mimicking a fish out of water, as I tried to come up with something to say. Then Sam unannounced started to laugh and I just stared at him completely dumbfound. "Breathe, Fabray! I was just joking with you."

Just as I was about to smack him on the arm and lash out at him for being so immature, Rachel Berry's voice rang out from the doorway. "Get your pretty little blonde asses over here pronto! Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, Ken and Barbie. It's karaoke time and I'm so gonna whip your sorry asses!" she squealed in a high-pitched voice.

Sam glanced at me with a lopsided grin on his face before he motioned towards the mini fridge located beside the patio door. He didn't need to say anything, I just nodded and snickered. We were definitely going to need a beer or two, or ten, if we were to face a clearly intoxicated Rachel in a karaoke battle. The girl could be a lot to handle on a normal day, but that was nothing compared to how intense she could become when she got wasted.

"Poor Finn," I mumbled as Sam handed me a cold bottle of Heineken. He just laughed at me and grabbed my hand, pulling me into the living room where Kurt had already helped Rachel get the TV going and the microphones plugged into the PlayStation. 'Where the hell is this night going to end?' I thought as Sam pulled me down on the couch beside him.

Yeah, if only I had known . . .

* * *

Author's note,

If I got anything wrong with the whole Sam-Ohio-State-football-draft thing I blame it on my lack of football knowledge and the fact that I'm from a country with a school system that is very different from the one in the US. I really like football though; we actually got to try it once in gym class in eighth grade (otherwise, we just play soccer and foorball).

Anyways, I hope you guys like this chapter and please post a little comment and let me know what you think. Some constructive feedback would be nice too, because I'd really like to improve my writing (and my English). Thank you in advance! :)

**Guest:** I'm glad you like it! I love Santana and her slams, she's so funny! :) Santana is going to pop up a lot in future chapter's as well (probably not in the next chapter, but definitely the one after that).

**SamEvans17:** Thank you so much! I really appreciate your reviews :) And I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations :)


	5. Chapter 5

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 5_

For the first time in almost six months I woke up after seven o'clock in the morning.

Usually my alarm is set to ring at half past six whether it is a Monday, a Wednesday or a Saturday. I love to get up early, because somehow it makes me feel like I get a head start on the day. It sounds silly, I know, and I have long ago lost count on how many times my friends have told me that. But I like to be one step ahead of everyone else. I think I have always been like that, even when I was a little child, back in Lima, Ohio.

By the time I am done with all domestic chores most people I know are still struggling with their breakfast, and if their name is Noah Puckerman, Finn Hudson or Santana Lopez they probably haven't even gotten out of bed yet. That gives me just enough time to go for a quick run around the block followed by a refreshing shower, before I normally have to drive to school.

I stretched out my arms and legs, feeling the muscles in my back pop, and drew a slow deep breath. I didn't feel like getting up, actually I felt like staying cocooned in the warm sheets for the remaining of the day. The bed was a lot more comfortable than I remembered; the sheets were softer and the pillows and duvet were way fluffier than I recalled. It all smelled a little different too, but in a good way. Nevertheless, it smelled different . . .

Ten minutes of listening to the light buzz of the traffic outside passed before another very wide yawn escaped my lips and I decided that it was probably time to crawl out of bed. I would just get mad with myself later when I found out I had tons of things to do, if I wasted the entire morning by staying wrapped in the heavenly soft blankets. When my eyes finally fluttered open, still a little puffy from my heavy sleep, and probably a little bloodshot due to the dull pounding in my head, I found myself looking out on an alien room. I stirred in the bed for a few long seconds before panic kicked in and I suddenly sat up.

"This isn't my room!" I breathed in a mixture of terror and shock as I let my gaze sweep over the dimly lit bedroom. It was a fairly small room, maybe of about thirty square meters, but with enough space to store a large bed with a nice headboard in deep dark glazed mahogany, two matching nightstands with grips in matt steel, a fairly big chest drawer and a chair. Propped on the chair was an old, definitely well used, acoustic guitar. The walls were painted a harmonious mantis—a green shade named after the color of the praying mantis, I believe—under thick black picture frames. I squinted in an attempt to make out what the picture on the wall on the opposite side of the bed showed, but my vision was too hazy to make out anything other than darker and lighter colors.

A loud sigh escaped from my lips as I felt the heavy pounding in my head increase significantly. Suddenly I wanted nothing but to squeeze my eyes shut, crawl under the warm cover and sleep. It was definitely the worst headache I have experienced since the party at Rachel's in junior year. I had drunk so much alcohol then . . .

It was definitely a mistake to think about drinks . . .

I shot a hand to my mouth as my stomach begun to churn. Two seconds later I was swinging my bare legs over the edge of the bed and onto the cold hardwood flooring. I had no idea where I was, and I didn't know where the bathroom was located, but I knew that I needed to get there ASAP!

As my bare feet swung over the edge of the bed, my left ankle connected with something cold and plastic. A quick look told me it was a red plastic bucket. Perhaps God didn't hate me nearly much as I sometimes suspected he did! The next thing I knew, I was doubled over, clutching the rim of the bucket with one hand as the other shakily supported most of my weight on the nightstand.

I hate throwing up. Okay, most people hate throwing up, but I _really_ hate it. It reminds me too much about everything that happened in sophomore year, I guess. Cheating on Finn, sleeping with Puck, getting kicked out of my home and, obviously, getting pregnant. It was not exactly the proudest moment in my life . . .

I don't hold a grudge against Beth, definitely not. At one point in my life I even considered her to be the _only_ good thing I had. Even Puck runs free – I don't hate him for what happened. Sure I believe he was a total asshole for getting me drunk on wine coolers so that he could sleep with me, and now, thinking about, isn't that bordering on rape?

Nevertheless, I said I hate throwing up because it reminds me of sophomore year, and it is true. I don't hate Beth and I don't hate Puck. What I do despise it the stupid and insecure person _I _was. The girl that was so mean to everyone because she thought that would help her stay on top, and the girl that actually believed the school's residential bad boy when he said a condom wasn't necessary. Most of all I hate the girl I was back then because of all the lies she told.

But mostly I hate throwing up because it reminds me about the damn morning sickness I experienced while expecting Beth. Waking up every morning and knowing that you will be sick, and that it is perfectly healthy, sucks!

When my stomach was completely emptied of what little content it had once contained I pushed myself up on my feet, with the support of the nightstand. My head spun as if I had been shoved into a washing machine and centrifuged together with the wet laundry. Did I mention this was the worst headache I had ever experienced?

With a quick look down, I noticed I wasn't dressed in the clothes I remembered putting on before leaving my apartment yesterday. Luckily I wasn't naked either. My blue satin cocktail dress had been replaced with an oversized grey tee shirt with some kind of red lettering on the chest. I didn't even bother trying to read it. Instead I quickly scanned the room with my still hazy eyes in search for my dress. When I didn't find it, I made my way—on wobbly legs—to the walk in closet and browsed through the many piles of clothes until I found a pair of sweatpants that I thought would fit me relatively well. Pulling them on was a lot more difficult than I had predicted. It actually took me about five minutes to pull the soft piece of cotton clothing on and when that mission finally was completed I was totally out of breath.

My tiny black leather purse hung on the edge of the bed headboard and my shoes—four inch black Christian Louboutin heels—were parked right beside the bed. Kurt would probably have killed me if he had seen me. Dressed in a gray tee shirt with matching gray sweatpants, and black heels I tiptoed towards the bedroom door. The purse was safely tucked under my arm as I slipped down the short hall towards what I assumed was the front door, judging by the little peephole and the brass door latch.

I silently thanked God that whoever lived in the condo wasn't at home – I couldn't stand a confrontation of that kind in this condition! Especially not with someone I had no idea who it was. It could be someone I knew or it could be a complete stranger, I didn't know that. The apartment did smell familiar, however, and I thought I recognized some pieces of furniture so my guess was on someone I knew, which honestly just made the situation even more complicated . . .

Why did I have to drink so much that I'd get memory lapses?

The elevator ride down to the ground floor seemed to take forever, when all I wanted was to get home as soon as possible. And if that wasn't enough an old man with an even older dog tried to make conversation with me as I stood there, leaning against the cold stainless steel wall. I know he just wanted to be friendly, talking about the weather and the stock market and what have you, but I was tired, hungry and nauseous and therefore a tad grumpy.

When the bell finally pinged and the stainless steel door terribly slowly slid open I released a sigh of relief and hustled out into the lobby. The first thing that hit me was how painfully bright everything was. The walls were painted an off-white color and what little furniture there was were all constructed out of steel and white plastic. The bright sunlight that was shining in through the window in the front door burned my sensitive eyes and made them water.

I stumbled out on the pavement outside the building and quickly flagged down a yellow cab. The driver, an Indian man in his late forties gave me a compassionate smile as I climbed into the back seat and gave him the directions to my place. "Rough night?" he said in what appeared to be more of a statement or an observation than a question. Because of that I did not feel obliged to answer and instead I let my heavy head drop back against the head rest with a quiet thud.

As the taxi pulled off of the curb I let my glossy stare wander up the tall apartment building I had just exited. It was located in a nice block right outside central New York, I realized. It didn't make a very big difference though, all I wanted was to get back to my place, take a shower, pop a few Tylenol and go to bed. Rid myself of the horrible headache that was threatening to make my head explode. And hopefully forget that any of this ever happened!

* * *

I wasn't that lucky.

When I woke up six hours later to the annoying sound that was the ringtone of my cell phone, I still suffered from the worst headache in history. I had not yet managed to fill the gaps in my memory of last night, and my forehead was clammy. To top it off, my stomach still felt like I hadn't eaten anything in four days, but at the same time it was purring as if I had just ingested a packet of raisins, some plums, a taco buffet and a glass of hot milk.

To say I was not feeling very good was an understatement.

With a loud groan I flung my arm over the edge of the leather couch—I obviously never made it from my bathroom to my bedroom after the sixty minute shower I decided to take right after I came home—and patted around on the floor until my fingers made contact with the hard shell of the vibrating and squealing device.

"Yeah," I grunted irritated after, finally, having found the 'accept call' button with semi-closed eyes and clumsy fingers. My voice was hoarse and raspy.

When no one responded to my rather harsh greeting I continued with a more gentle 'hello?'. When I, once again, received no response from the other end of the line, I removed the device from my ear and tossed it on the brown leather armchair that was angling the couch. After bouncing soundlessly on the seat it eventually came to rest upside-down on the tan leather.

A loud sigh escaped my lips as I let my head fall back against the armrest of the couch. "Stupid hangover . . ." I muttered as the pounding in my head grew louder. In front of my eyes I imagined a marching band walking down a fairly crowded street where the audience cheered happily for them. With the increasing pounding in my head bits and pieces of what happened last night slowly started to come back to me.

After what happened between Noah Puckerman and me in sophomore year I promised myself to never get so drunk that I would get memory lapses again. Unfortunately I am not known to be very good at keeping promises. One of the therapists I went to after my car accident in senior year touched upon the subject once. She told me that perhaps my inability to keep promises, or stay faithful and loyal, was a kind of defense mechanism; that I avoided to become attached to someone only to decrease the risk of getting hurt in the end.

I truly wish I had kept that promise I made myself after the night with Puck . . .

Images of a drunk Rachel Berry placing a disc in the PlayStation or Xbox, or whatever it was, popped up in my head. The petite brunette had been smiling numbly as she had waddled over to the couch with two microphones and a controller in one hand and a wine glass in her other hand. She had handed one of the black microphones to her fiancé. "C'mon, babe. Sing with me!" she said with a slight slur and batted her long black eyelashes at him. "Pretty, pretty please!"

Of course Finn obeyed his girlfriend's wishes. I have come to realize that he really is the epitome of a whipped boyfriend. You know the one that a comedy cannot seem to do without – not that I am complaining. I love those comedies.

When Rachel found out that the disc contained a few songs that we've actually sung in Glee Club I thought she was going to explode! Rachel plus candy and alcohol equals a very hyperactive Rachel Berry. It kind of reminded me about that time in sophomore year when everybody in Glee Club was given Pseudoephedrine by Mr. Schuester's crazy then-wife Terry. I don't even dare to imagine how Rachel on crack would be, those two words, Rachel and crack, together is enough to scare me.

_Boy you really got me going_  
_You got me so I don't know what I'm doing_  
_Ah, push it!_

A clearly intoxicated Rachel Berry finished the catchy Salt-n-Pepa song straddling her fiancé, and with her lips grazing his ear. I was completely convinced that the angels were bawling their eyes out up in heaven.

It took the husband and wife-to-be a few moments to collect themselves, before Rachel crawled out of Finn's lap and made her way towards me. "Quinnie Bear," she called and smiled, the coconut and vanilla scented perfume she wore found its way to my nostrils where it blended with the light strawberry smell of her lip balm and her breath that oozed of alcohol. "you're up." Then she turned her head, her long slightly wavy brown hair moving elegantly over her shoulder, towards the blonde man that was seated on the couch beside me. "You're her partner, Sammy."

The blonde lifted both his eyebrows and gave a quick nod in consent. Then he brought his hand up to rub at his neck. "You pick the song, eh? Or do we get to—"

"Oh, what a lo—oops!" Rachel hiccupped and snickered. "What a lovely idea, Sam! I have just the perfect song for the two of you," Rachel explained in an excited voice and Sam glanced at me from under his long eyelashes while one corner of his lips pulled up in a lopsided grin. 'Sorry' he mouthed as the short brunette grabbed the controller and begun to browse through the different tracks available. When she seemed to have found the one she had been looking for she turned to her fiancé with a content smile. "Won't this be absolutely perfect, honey?"

Finn, who had seemingly zoned out on us for a short moment turned to her with a look of slight confusion on his face. It appeared as though he had been caught in deep thought when Rachel had called for his attention. I had noticed that this behavior of his had become more frequent during the past few months. Indeed, he used to do this quite often in high school—who can forget the blank expression on his face whenever that happened?—but not to this extent. When in high school he would just be 'gone' for thirty seconds at most. However, nowadays he seemed to be able to zone out for minutes at a time. It was beginning to alarm me.

I remember specifically an afternoon when Rachel, Finn and I were seated in the kitchen of my small apartment. The brunette woman was thoroughly explaining to me what colors she wished the table cloths to have at the wedding reception. A pale orchid pink, if I recall correctly. However, during this talk of preparations for the upcoming wedding, Finn appeared to be completely lost in thought. It had struck me as rather amusing at the moment, the look on his face was enough to make my lips curl upwards at the corners. I had assumed he had gotten lost in speculations about which team would win the football game later that night, but I have come to realize that that might not have been the case.

Again I had seen the tall lanky brunette zone out while we were out on a dinner with a small group of mutual friends, but that time I knew his mental state had nothing to do with football, because there was no game later that night, I knew that because a close friend of mine, Landon Parker, yes the Landon I work with, had complained about it the whole day.

Again, I was watching the former New Direction co-captain struggle to comprehend what had been said while his head had checked out. As I stated earlier, it was certainly beginning to alarm me.

The tall brunette man blinked slowly for a short moment, before he appeared to understand what was going on. He gave Rachel a quick smile and a short nod, before he leant back into the couch with quiet sigh.

More time than that I wasn't given to ponder over my friends strange behavior before Rachel got to her feet, walked over to me and grabbed me by the wrist. She pulled me over to the couch and literally pushed me down between Sam and Finn, before she squeezed her small butt down between Finn and me. She handed Sam and me a microphone each with a wide grin and then she motioned to the large flat screen. "Ssh! I'm pressing 'start' now."

Frankly, I cannot remember what song Rachel had picked out for us, nor do I recall who won this mini-competition Rachel had basically forced us to participate in, but I'm guessing she and Finn won – they always do. It is quite funny too—or maybe 'worrying' would be the right term—that I cannot seem to remember what everyone else at the party were up to. I have memories of Puck asking if someone had a deck of cards and some poker chips but I don't know if he ever found any, but he is about the only other person that I even remember talking to.

As I have noted so many times today; I truly wish I had kept that promise I made myself after the night with Puck all those years ago . . .

After a long moment of debate whether I should get up or stay on the couch for the rest of the day, hell the rest of my life—the control freak in me wouldn't allow me to waste the entire day with just chilling on my couch—I finally trudged into the kitchen. The bright sunlight that was streaming in through the semi closed blinds was burning my eyes and making my poor head hurt even more.

I walked over to the sink and poured myself a glass of cold water, before I picked up my cell phone and started to punch in the digits of a number I never in my life though I would memorize. "I am _so_ screwed!" I half whispered half shouted into the phone when I heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line quipping 'Rachel Berry speaking' in a way too _happy_ tone.

How come she didn't sound the least hangover?

Suddenly I regretted calling Rachel; perhaps Tina would have been a better choice . . .

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice then asked worriedly. "Has something happened?"

I rolled my eyes out of frustration before I ungraciously flopped down on a chair by the dinner table. The smell of overripe fruit reached my nostrils and threatened to force me to sprint to the bathroom again. I pressed the back of my unoccupied hand against my nose and mouth while I held my breath and silently started to hum the catchy melody to Justin Bieber's _Baby_. When that didn't help I reluctantly climbed out of the seat and trudged over to the kitchen island on which the fruit bowl was located. I grabbed the black bowl, pulled the door to the cabinet under the kitchen sink open and dumped the fruit in the trashcan. The glass bowl went into the dishwashing machine and then I returned to my seat.

I pulled the pink cotton bathrobe I was dressed in closer around my body as I silently muttered, 'Has something happened? You have got to be kidding me!'

"I am so screwed!" I sighed again and pounded my head violently against the open palm of the hand that wasn't holding the telephone to my ear. "I am so _fucking_ screwed."

The angels were crying, I bet. Such an unholy word should not be uttered by a girl like me. Not with the childhood I had had, not with the parents I have. The angels were probably crying louder now than they would whenever one of those balloons we used during Celibacy Club would pop. I didn't care about that now though. I could cuss all I wanted.

Fuck, I had messed up. Fuck!

The other end went quiet for a short moment and I almost though the short brunette had hung up on me, until I heard her clear her throat. "I take it you didn't make it home from Sam's last night," she stated with an annoying drawl and I swear she was trying to keep a small smile away as she said that. Emphasis on the word _tried_. What the heck was there to smile about? At that moment I wanted to hit the short girl so very bad!

Then my brain registered _what _she had said.

Did I wake up—with the worst hangover in history—in Sam's apartment? Sam as in _Sam Evans_? Then all of a sudden I started to feel dizzy, everything around me was beginning to spin rapidly. But what Rachel said made sense . . . The familiar smell in the condo, the clothes I knew I had seen somewhere before, the acoustic guitar propped on the chair beside the chest drawer, and the framed poster of Captain America that decorated the inside of the bedroom door. It all made sense now . . .

"It's not funny, Berry!" I almost whined into the phone and buried my head in my hand.

The brunette girl scoffed. "So now we're back to Berry, huh?" she asked with fake agitation, but she's always been a better singer than actress so her act wasn't hard to see through. "I really though we made friends, _Fabray_." Then I heard her draw a quick breath before she continued in a low, almost hushed, voice, but the curiousness was all there, though, and irritatingly easy to detect. "Was he good?"

Suddenly I didn't want to hit the brunette woman any longer – now I wanted to shoot her!

* * *

Author's note,

Uh-oh, looks like things may just have gotten a little complicated... What do you think? Is history repeating itself? What really happened at Sam's place and what's going on with Finn? Care to guess?

**SamEvans17:** You are so right, it should definitely be 'hoisted' and not 'hissed' ;) I've fixed that now. Thanks for pointing that out, I really appreciate it! :) And thank you so much for you kind reviews! :)

**Sydney:** Thank you so much!

**xvzgirl:** Thank you! If you love Santana I think you may like Chapter 6 :)

**RJRRAA: **I'm glad you like it.I feel like Sam isn't the kind of person who would brag about his achievements so to me it just made more sense to have Finn and Rachel figure it out. Sometimes FanFiction signs me out too. It kind of has a life on its own...


	6. Chapter 6

_Across These City Street_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 6_

"You slept with Sam Evans!"

I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly. "Can you say that _a little louder_, Santana. I don't think the old man with the hearing aid over there heard you," I muttered and poked at the half eaten piece of lemon tart on the dessert plate in front of me. I had lost my appetite a long time ago.

The raven haired woman stared at me with a blank expression and then she went back to examining her polished nails intently as if they were the most fascinating things in the world. "Chill out, Tubbers," she said nonchalantly, and the way she said it gave me unpleasant flashbacks from high school. Ugh, I shuddered at the pure thought of it.

"It's not like they give a damn about who you get it on with anyways." I opened my mouth to protest and to beg her to just drop the subject, but before I managed to form any words she continued. Though, this time she wasn't using her low bored voice, she was rather loudly expressing her excitement. "You had _sex _with _Sam Evans_! You know he's like a professional football player or something! You are very unpredictable, Fabray. You know that?"

I grounded my teeth in an attempt to keep myself from kicking the small table that separated me from the Latina out of the way, and launch myself at her. Had it been high school I probably would have done it already, but I like to think that I have matured, at least a little bit, since then.

With a shrill scream I had been tackled into the beige steel lockers that lined both sides of the seemingly never ending corridor. My back had hit the cold steel with a loud bang that had caused the doors behind me to rattle and the other McKinley High students in the hall to pause in their actions and look in our direction. As Santana was about to slap me I pushed her off of me and took a few quick steps away from the wall. "You did this to me! You told Coach Sylvester about my summer surgery!" Santana said through gritted teeth, while she aggressively inched towards me.

"You have a surgery when you get your appendix out. _You_ got a boob job," I responded in a loud voice, angrily emphasizing the last sentence.

"Yup, sure did!" Santana screamed before she slapped me hard across the face. From the group of students that had gathered around us in the hall came an astonished 'oh'.

"You can't hit me!" I exclaimed, raising my voice. I was furious, not only because of her surgery, but also because of the way she was acting towards me. I was the captain of the Cheerios. I was her superior. She was not supposed to behave like that towards me.

"Oh, sure can. Unless you got yourself knocked up again, _Slut_!" Santana spat. It made my blood boil and the next thing I knew I was grabbing the raven haired girl by her shoulders and slamming her into the lockers. Hard. A grunt escaped the Latina's lips as her back hit the cold steel lockers.

At the frontline of the crowd that was watching us, stood Brittany. The tall blonde looked deeply distressed as she begged us to 'stop the violence' in a soft, weak voice. Poor Brittany. Of course we didn't listen, Santana and I. We were both too worked up to even register Brittany's words.

The Latina pushed me away from her and shoveed me against the lockers on the other side of the small hall. The second impact with the beige colored steel didn't hurt as much as the first time – or maybe it had to do with all the adrenaline that was surging through my body . . .

I grabbed a handful of Santana's long and silky black hair and pulled as hard as I could. The Latina screamed and reluctantly took a quick step away from me. However, I guess I got too satisfied with my successful tactic of getting her to back off of me, to react to her hands swiftly grabbing my shoulders and throwing me to the ground with a loud thud.

Just as Santana was about to attack me again—I was still trying to get up from the dirty floor—Mr. Schuester came running down the hall. "Hey! Hey! Hey! What is this? What happened to us being a family?" he growled as he tried to keep Santana and me apart. He was very angry and disappointed, I could tell. There's this face he makes when he's upset; he presses his lips into a thin line, the corners of his lips slightly tilting downwards as in an inverted smile and his jaws are set.

Our curly haired Spanish teacher and Glee Club coach ended up only concentrating on holding me back, since Santana seemed to have calmed down a little more than I had. "Stop that," he snarled at me as I attempted, but failed, to punch the raven haired girl.

Behind him Santana had thrown her hand above her head in a wild gesture while she had taken several steps towards us. "Oh please! She has a family! She's a mother!"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. While fighting to get out of the firm grip Mr. Schuester had on me I had screamed at the top of my lungs, not for a second caring about my voice cracking or the looks I knew I would receive from other students later. "Walk away and tighten up your pony before you get to class!"

Thinking about it today, I actually don't know what made me so upset about Santana's surgery. Sure the breast augmentation added a little extra weight to her otherwise skinny body, but that tiny, close to nonexistent, increase in weight could not possibly affect her cheerleading performance.

Nevertheless, instead of grabbing my friend's long black hair and throw her against the wall, like in high school, I took a strong hold on the hem of my light blue sundress and kneaded it in my hands. "I didn't sleep with him," I muttered almost inaudible, while my eyes stayed glued on the barely touched dessert on the plate in front of me.

The Latina scoffed in distrust and glanced at her girlfriend who had said surprisingly little for being Brittany S. Pierce. "You just told us you didn't remember anything of what happened that night. Still you claim you _didn't_ do the naughty with Trouty Mouth," Santana pointed out in a matter of fact tone as she arched a skeptic eyebrow. I hated that wiseacre tone of hers. "Sounds like denial if you ask me."

"Mm-hm, total denial," Brittany added with a light shrug while taking a big bite of her chocolate iced cream filled doughnut. Sue Sylvester would have killed her if she had seen her!

I glared at the tall daffy blonde with a you-are-so-not-helping-me look. She just shrugged in response and redirected her attention to the chocolate glazed sugar shock in her hand.

Meanwhile the Latina leaned forward and placed her elbows on the edge of the table. Her long slender fingers intertwined on top of the table. "Okay, listen here, Q. What I'm really trying to say is that you're hot! Sam's hot, even though his mouth-to-face ratio is way off—Uh-uh, no interrupting when Auntie Snixx is talking! _And_ you've both obviously still got feelings for one another, though you're both too damn obsessed with proving your independence to admit it. Consider this your second chance with Trouty Mouth," Santana mused aloud before grabbing her wine glass and taking a long sip of her red wine. "Don't waste it!" she added as she put the tall glass down.

Unable to find an appropriate retort I just sat there and stared in silence at the half-eaten dessert on the plate in front of me. I was embarrassed and I was confused. Memories of last night had slowly begun to come back to me, but they were all fuzzy little micro sequences at the best; nothing that would really help me remember what happened after the actual party ended.

I must have gotten pretty lost in my own thoughts because I didn't acknowledge Santana calling my name. Her hand waving vividly right in front of my face, however, caught my attention. "What?" I asked in a somewhat bitchy tone that got me wondering where the hell that just came from. I thought I had buried the old HBIC-Quinn.

The raven haired woman stared at me for a short moment before she arched a perfectly sculptured eyebrow and smirked at me. "Feisty," she mocked. "Anyways, I was thinking about getting my partying on. You know any good clubs 'round here, Tubbers?"

I inwardly rolled my eyes. How come the only thing my friends seem to be able to think about is partying and getting drunk? Didn't Alcohol Awareness Week at McKinley High teach them anything?

Horrible images of a drunk Rachel Berry exchanging saliva with Blaine who back then was simply referred to as 'Kurt's gay Warbler friend', 'the Warbler' or 'Blaine Warbler'. Kurt's awkward expression and Rachel's lustful 'Your face . . . taste awesome' had for some reason gotten etched onto my memory bank.

I sighed. "Yeah, I might know a place."

Santana nodded contently. "Awesome! Then we just need to go buy you a sexy outfit," she mused aloud as she went back to examining her nails.

"W-what? Wait, hold on a second! I never said I was going with you," I whined and shifted my gaze between Santana and Brittany, hoping that maybe—just maybe—the tall daffy blonde would take my side.

But of course she didn't . . .

The Latina stared at me with a blank expression; not the zooned out, confused kind of expression Finn has a patent on, but more of a disinterested Kurt Hummel meets a questioning Mercedes Jones. "It wasn't a question," Santana said in a monotone voice. My eyebrows laced together in a confused frown. "It's your damn obligation as the third party of the Unholy Trinity to act a good hostess to your fellow sinners as we gild your precious little city with our presence," she preached in her typical bitchy-Santana voice. "And_ I_ really wants to get my partyin' on with Britts here and you, our favorite little Baby Mama."

I let out a heavy breath when I realized that there was no way I was getting out of this. After Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez is probably the most stubborn person I know. "Yeah, yeah . . . I'll come. But I'm not drinking, okay," I muttered and let out another loud sigh.

The Latina huffed. "Yeah? That's what you always say, and we all know how good you are at keeping that promise."

In that moment I practically saw red, to be honest I have no idea how I managed to not snap at Santana. The past week had been a complete nightmare and I was still embarrassed and ashamed of what may or may not have happened the night of Sam's party.

I found myself shooting daggers in the Latina's direction and my nails were digging into my palms where I had folded my hands into tight fists.

Beside me Brittany had just finished her doughnut and was contemplating whether she should walk up to the counter and order another one or not. She poked my shoulder lightly and offered me a sweet smile when I, a little too abruptly, snapped my head in her direction.

"What?" I spat angrily.

The blonde flinched and her shoulders slumped slightly. "Sorry," she whispered and glanced up at me with hurt blue eyes under long dark lashes. She looked like a sad little puppy that I had just scolded for using my favorite shoe as a dog chew. Immediately a feeling of guilt washed over me. I had no right to snap at Brittany like that.

"No, I'm sorry," I mumbled and pierced my bottom lip between my teeth.

She nodded slowly. "I was just wondering if you wanted anything. More coffee? Wine? Ice cream?" I smiled a little and shook my head. "Ok-ay. Santana, do you want anything?" The Latina shook her head as well and smiled at her girlfriend. "Mm. I'll be back in a minute then," Brittany mumbled and got up from her seat.

"So how are the two of you doing?" I asked once Brittany was out of earshot. Santana glanced at me with a slightly confused look in her dark brown eyes. "Oh, come on, you know what I'm talking about, Santana!" The raven haired woman turned her head a little so that she could, out of the corner of her eye, watch Brittany talk to the old woman behind the counter.

Santana had come to me asking for advice a few weeks ago. I had found it rather strange that she would ask _me_ for tips when she knew all about my history of 'successful' relationships. Sure, she considered me to be one of her best friends and I have known her since we were kids, but wouldn't Tina be a better guidance for her? The Asian woman managed to stay in a relationship with Mike for almost three years, during a time when teenagers are very fickle when it comes to who they love, or think they love. One week it might be one person, the next week it could be someone completely different.

Thoughtfully I licked my lips and leaned back in my chair. A quick glance in the blonde's direction told me she was still busy ordering more pastries. "Have you bought a ring yet?" I asked carefully and then trapped my bottom lip between my teeth as I awaited the answer with great anticipation.

Slowly Santana nodded, but then she seemed to change her mind, as she began to shake her head instead. I gave her a confused look and questioningly lifted an eyebrow.

The Latina drew a deep breath. "I, well, uh . . ." It was unusual to find Santana tongue-tied. At any other time I probably would have found that amusing. However, right now it just helped add gravity to the moment. "I haven't bought one. My mother had this very old ring," she said while gesturing with her hands in an attempt to mask her nervousness. "She said it had once belonged to my great-great-great-grandmother. It is a quite simple golden band with a flower creeper engraved on the outside. Her initials had once been carved into the inside too, but they have been worn down – just like the flower creeper on the outside would have been if the ring hadn't been brought in to a jeweler who maintained it every once in a while."

I felt myself nod slowly. "I am one hundred percent certain that she would love it, Santana," I said encouragingly and patted her on the arm lightly. "I definitely would if I were her."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm," I hummed and smiled. "But let's not talk more about that right now – she's coming our way," I whispered and pulled my hand back. Santana nodded and we both greeted Brittany with wide smiles as she sat down by the table again.

"Hey, why do you all look so happy? What did I miss?" she queered in a sing-song voice and placed the plate with the Danish pastry on the table.

I shrugged and smiled. "Nothing important," I said, picked up my fork and stabbed a small piece of lemon tart. I popped it into my mouth at about the same time as Santana's cell phone pinged.

The Latina reached into her purse and withdrew the device. A dissatisfied frown formed on her face. Obviously she didn't appreciate the fact that someone was interrupting our good time. "My manager has called me. Six times," she sighed. "She left a message too. Apparently she insists we have some kind of video conference right now. So . . . Gotta run, bitches!" Santana said with a light shrug and rose from her chair. "See you later tonight, Britts," she murmured before kissing her girlfriend on the lips.

Then the slender Latina turned to me. "It was nice seeing you again, Q. Honestly. Unholy Trinity forever, remember?"

She grew quiet and smirked to herself for a short moment. I am pretty sure she experienced the same flashback as I did. In my head we were dressed in the knee long, red, vintage dresses we wore for the last Glee Nationals Championship we competed in together, our hair was pulled into tight buns and our lips was painted a devilish red. 'The Unholy Trinity. Starting together, ending together.' Santana's words echoed in my head and I couldn't help but feel the corners of my lips beginning to tilt upwards as well.

"Just a tip though, Tubbers. Remember to use protection when you get it on with Lady Lips next time. You are after all the freaking fertility queen," the raven haired woman winked before wrapping a purple scarf around her neck and picking up her black leather purse. "Bye-bye!"

I rolled my eyes in annoyance before I said goodbye to Santana. She truly could be a royal pain in the ass! But for some strange reason I still loved her.

As the Latina was about to grab the door handle and push open the heavy oak door marked with a large 'exit'-sign, someone all three of us recognized entered through the entrance door.

"Well hello there Pretty Pony! I didn't expect to run into you here!" Santana exclaimed with a wide grin on her face.

"I thought I'd come down here and buy Blaine some coffee and doughnuts," Kurt replied with a genuine smile.

"Yeah, whatever . . . Look, Britt-Britt and Q are sitting over there and I think Brittany would be happy to see her favorite dolphin."

The petite young man smiled kindly. "Yes, of course I will go say 'hi' to them."

"Mm," Santana mumbled. "I think Queen Bee might need to talk to you about some rather juicy stuff too." When Kurt glanced in confusion at the Latina, she just leaned closer to him. "She totally did the naughty with Trouty Mouth," I heard the raven haired woman whisper to Kurt before she grabbed the door handle and pushed the door open, leaving a baffled Kurt Hummel standing right inside the door.

God, this is bad! I sighed and buried my head in my hands. Beside me Brittany wiped her hands on a white napkin before she reached out and patted me comfortingly on the back. "This isn't that bad. Look at it from the bright side: it can always get worse." I gave her a sideways glance. What a way to try to cheer someone up, huh?

The problem was I had no idea how right she was...

* * *

Author's note,

This chapter is a little bit shorter than the previous ones and I guess it is kind of a 'filler' – it helps explain some of the stuff that will happen in later chapters. Anyways, Santana is back in New York, just like I promised, and she is subtle as usual... She's gotten quite good at giving advice about love though don't you think? :)

In the next chapter we're meeting Sam again. Yay! And an angry Finn...

Last but not least, please leave a little comment and let me know what you think of the story so far! :)

**Nicole:** I almost burst out laughing reading your first sentence. Talk about being straightforward, I love it! You are hilarious :)

I'm sorry to hear about your test. Failing tests suck! :( I hope there is some kind of retest you can take.

Well, I've posted Chapter 6 one day in advance for you (I'm sorry I couldn't post it earlier, but I've been busy with school). I'm afraid I can't help you with the painkillers though, but a pint of Ben & Jerry's and A Dose of Buckley – _Top Ten Worst Songs of 2012_ watch?v=2cIm1FDc7fY (he's hilarious!) may work just as good.

**RJRRAA:** Thank you! :) I don't know if this chapter helps answer any of your questions, but I hope you like it anyway!

**SamEvans17:** Thanks! :) I'm glad that you find Rachel entertaining, because she is very funny to write! :)

**FabrevansXOXOBrittana:** Thank you so so much! Judging by your penname you're shipping two awesome couples so I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	7. Chapter 7

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 7_

Throughout all ups and down I have been through—and it has been quite a few—if there is one thing I have learned it is that the best way to ventilate your frustration and clear your mind is to push yourself through a really extreme work out session. Ultimately that work out session should involve some time alone with the punching bag; preferably one on which you have taped a photo of the person that has upset or hurt you.

The technique, I believe, was one I started using sometime during high school, and it has proven rather successful. The person—in the form of a punching bag—that has most frequently been the victim of my many punches and kicks is probably one Finn Hudson.

Or maybe Rachel Berry.

It's funny think about now that the three of us are close friends that the two of them used to be the ones that most often got me so frustrated I wanted to take my aggression out on them physically.

The reason I hit the gym today had nothing to do with the two brunettes, even though I believe they could have at least tried to convince me to follow them home, and not stay at Sam's apartment. Nevertheless, _I_ was the reason I decided to go to the gym and beat my knuckles sore on the punching bag. I was disappointed and angry at myself for acting so damn irresponsibly and I was ashamed of the fact that I didn't have the guts to call the blonde and ask him what really happened.

So the face that I painted on the black punching bag was my own, and I don't think I have ever before put so much power behind my kicks and punches as I did today.

My hands were hurting and my eyes were stinging from the sweat that kept trickling down from my hairline, but I refused to stop. My ridiculously intense beating of the poor bag earned me more glares from other sweaty men and women than ever before, but I don't blame them. I would probably glance sideway at a person who was attempting to kill a dead object too.

I was exhausted enough to drop down on my knees without being able to get back up again, when a familiar deep timbre voice reached my ears. "I'm glad I'm not that bag right now," it said, and I am sure my heart skipped a beat at that moment.

I stopped dead in my tracks and was almost knocked to the ground when the bag swung back at me, but a pair of strong arms caught me before my body made contact with the cold floor.

I swear time moved in slow motion from the second the punching bag hit me to when I was pulled back onto my feet again. During the few seconds that actually passed I managed to curse my own stupidity a billion times. In one last attempt to convince myself that I was just imagining things I squeezed my eyes shut.

"You okay?" asked the deep voice, coated in worry. I reluctantly pried my eyes open to find myself gazing up into the soft green eyes of Sam Evans. "You seem a little dizzy," he added while his eyes seemed to do a quick check over to make sure I really was okay, at least physically.

I opened and closed my mouth for a few moments unable to form any words that wouldn't make me appear weak, sad, frustrated, angry or completely out of my mind. After a couple of failed attempts I finally managed to press out a strangled 'I-I'm fine'.

Whether Sam bought my lie or not, I don't know, but if he didn't, he kept quiet about it. He did however hand me a bottle of cold water that he must have put on the ground before he decided to play hero and save me from a bruised behind. I somewhat reluctantly accepted the bottle that he held out for me and took a couple of swigs of the refreshing liquid. All the while Sam observed me with his hands firmly placed on his hips.

It struck me how little the blonde man had actually changed physically since we left high school. He still had his blonde hair quite long, even though he had gotten rid of that disheveled Bieber cut he sported during the time shortly after his family got kicked out of their house. And he still had that innocent face and boyish lopsided grin that would make most women's knees go weak. But his body had changed a little bit; he had grown a little taller, his shoulders had gotten slightly broader and his muscles were even more toned now than they were when he stepped out on stage dressed in those tight gold shorts for our remake of the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_.

I must have gotten lost in thought because suddenly Sam was snapping his fingers in front of me. I blinked in confusion a couple of times before I managed to understand what he was saying. "How do you feel?" he asked and raised both his eyebrows.

Sucking my bottom lip in between my teeth, I contemplated whether I should take this opportunity to ask him what happened last Friday night, but I ended up deciding against it. It probably wouldn't have been the best of ideas to ask such an intimate question in the presence of a dozen people I had never seen before.

Sam tilted his head to the side and fixed me with his penetrating gaze. "How do you feel?" he asked again in hope of actually getting an answer this time.

I was pondering what would be the most appropriate answer to that question when Finn Hudson walked through the door. The tall lanky man walked with long quick strides across the tile floor towards us. His normally relaxed, and slightly slumped, posture was nowhere in sight. His large hands were kept close to his sides with his fingers curled into tight balls that caused his knuckles to take on a ghostly white shade.

At first I had felt somewhat relieved when I saw the door being pulled open to reveal the tall brunette that recently had become one of my absolutely closest friends, but after noticing the unusual, and to be completely honest rather scary, aggressiveness that was emitting from him, I begun to think the relief I felt would be short-lived.

I never could have predicted what came next though . . .

Finn eliminated the distance between him and us in less than fifteen seconds, but that short amount of time was enough for me to sense that something was terribly wrong. However, a quarter of a minute was not enough time for me to figure out _what_ it was that wasn't right.

Everything just happened so fast.

The next thing I knew, Sam was on the floor bleeding profusely from his nose. My hands traveled to my mouth to suppress a shocked 'oh my God' simultaneously as the blonde's right hand shot up to his face, where it wiped under his nose only to be brought away from his face covered in a sticky red substance. He was confused and shocked. It was obvious by how stared with eyes wide open at the sticky crimson substance that covered his right hand.

I would be shocked too if my best friend had punched me square in the face.

"That's for hurting her, you son of a bitch!" Finn growled in a voice so full of hate and disgust it almost made me flinch. From the corner of my eye I could see him ground his jaw, and clench his fists into tight balls. He took a long step forward until he was almost standing over the blonde man that was still half-sitting on the floor supporting the weight of his upper body on a hand placed on the floor beside him. A thick stream of blood was still coming out of his nose and dropping down onto his blue long sleeved shirt.

"You ever so much as look at her again, you little scumbag, I'll break your neck. You hear me?"

I couldn't believe my eyes – or my ears. And I could definitely not make sense of it. Why would Finn hurt Sam like that? And why the heck would he threaten to kill the blonde? It was beyond my understanding. Finn was usually a rather controlled and calm guy, kind of like a big teddy bear. The only times I have seen him really upset, or even close to getting violent, were all back in high school when he was just an hormone-fueled teenager. Just like the rest of us, he has matured a lot in four years.

Growing older and wiser obviously did not stop him from storming into the room and beat his friend bloody though.

"What the hell are you doing!" Sam hissed from beside me. He had apparently recovered from the initial shock and was now boiling with anger. The bloodied hand used his jean clad knee as support as he heaved his body up from the cold tile floor. Confused and angry bright ocean orbs stared into Finn's furious brown ones.

"Giving you a sneak peak on what will come next if you ever hurt one of my friends again," the tall brunette grunted as his hands turned into even tighter fists.

"What the hell are you talking, man?" Sam replied in an equally firm tone as he straightened his body and stared into his former McKinley Titan teammate's steady gaze. He was too curling his fingers into tight balls that were swaying slightly at the sides of his body, prepared to fight back against the former first string quarterback in case the tall lanky brunette would try to get in a punch on him again.

The air was becoming harder to breathe with every tension filled second that passed. People were gathering around at a safe distance, curious to see what was going on but to damn coward to step in and stop what would most likely soon turn into a very ugly fistfight between two obviously pretty angry men. I could see why Sam would be mad; Finn did after all stomp in and punch him square in the face without any apparent reason. But why Finn would be so furious was still a bit of a mystery to me.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" Finn boomed as he took another step towards the slightly shorter man.

Sam scoffed and pulled himself as tall as he possibly could in an attempt to intimidate the brunette. If I had been Finn I would probably have backed off at that moment. Usually Sam Evans came across as the sweet kindhearted Southern gentleman that only exists in sappy romantic movies, but when he wanted to he could be really scary.

"For your information, Hudson, I have no fucking idea what you're talking about. I haven't hurt any of _your_ _friends._ And just for the record, dude, I'm not scared of you," the blonde said and puffed up his chest.

I didn't like where the situation was heading. It was going south; and that really fast!

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Finn spat. "And don't you even dare to deny it right in front of her! You're pathetic and a disgrace for taking advantage of her when you know how vulnerable she is!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. That 'friend' Finn had been referring to all along had apparently been me. Me? The thoughts was spinning at full speed in my head as my mind did its best try to understand what this confrontation was all about from what little I could gather from Finn's words.

The tall brunette drew a quick but deep breath before he continued. "You should be sent to prison, you scumbag!" Finn said through gritted teeth. "Kurt was devastated when he called me."

I could feel myself frown. What did Kurt have to do with all of this? As far as I knew Sam had only met Kurt on a few occasions since we left Lima.

Sam seemed as confused as me when it came to Finn's step-brother's involvement in this debacle. "Kurt? What the heck does he—"

"You used her!" Finn suddenly exclaimed with a vivid gesture towards me. Then he continued in a slightly lower voice. "You knew she was drunk and you forced her to have sex with you! You're disgusting!"

I felt my jaw drop to the floor, and from the corner of my eye I could see that Sam's reaction was much the same. For a long minute I just stood there staring at Finn. Then slowly everything started to fall into place. I remembered my meeting with Brittany and Santana, and what the latter had whispered to Kurt just as she left the café.

Suddenly I felt so extremely stupid. I was embarrassed.

Swallowing thickly a couple of times I finally got my voice to work again as I hoarsely mumbled, "Finn, you've got it all wrong. I didn't—we didn't . . . It's just a big misunderstanding. Sam just—"

The tall ex-quarterback wouldn't let me finish the sentence though as he interrupted me with a firm, "That's what they always say on TV. It's denial."

I blinked at him in confusion. I wasn't denying anything! Why wouldn't he listen?

Then Sam took a step forward. "This is crazy, man. Just like Q said, it's a misunderstanding. We never—" Sam never got to the end of the sentence though before Finn's right hook made contact with the blondes already bloodied and bruised face. There was a distinct and sickening crack of bone, which made me want to empty my stomach content right then and there.

Sam stumbled backwards as his hands shoot up to his hurting face. Dark red blood started to seep through his fingers and drip down onto the grey tile floor again.

"Oh my God! What the hell is wrong with you Finn!" I gasped as Sam stumbled backwards a few more steps and almost fell to the ground again. Without thinking twice I quickly moved over to the blonde and grabbed him by the arm to try to keep him from falling over. "He is your friend for God's sake!" I scolded the tall and lanky brunette, before pointing towards the door with a shaky hand. "Leave!" Finn's lips started to tremble as he tried to from a reply, but I cut him off. "Get out of here! Now!"

As I watched the brunette disappear through the door I inwardly let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Then I heard Sam groan quietly beside me, which quickly pulled my attention from the now closed door towards the injured blonde man. I swallowed thickly when I saw the large amount of blood that coated his hands and blue long sleeved T-shirt.

I pulled carefully at his arm as I half-whispered in a hoarse voice, "We should probably get you cleaned off."

Without protest Sam let me guide him into the gym's rather spacy women's locker room – after I had checked that it was empty, of course.

I pulled him over to one of the benches and forced him to sit down.

"Let me look at you," I said to Sam and tenderly grabbed his wrists with my small hands to remove his hands from his face. He winced and hissed before he reluctantly let me see his bloody face.

I gasped in sympathy for the blonde man. I wasn't by any means a doctor, or even a nurse, but anyone could tell his face would be an ugly combination of black, blue, purple and yellow for at least the next seven days. I didn't realize I was grimacing until Sam pointed it out to me. "That bad?" he queered and squinted up at me with one eye squeezed close.

My bottom lip was pulled in between my teeth where I chewed it for a short moment. "Well, you've looked better," I answered truthfully before turning towards the sink to wet the paper towels I had grabbed from the holder right next to the sink. I let the water run for a while before I put the paper towel under the jet. Whenever I hurt myself as a kid in a way that could possibly result in a bruise my mother would always get me something cold to put on the spot that hurt. Usually it was a plastic bag of ice or a pack of frozen peas. I didn't have any ice or frozen pies with me to the gym though, so cold water would have to do.

Sam hissed and flinched as I placed the cold and wet paper towel against his sore and bloodied skin. "I'm sorry," I whispered quietly as I tried to wipe away most of the blood. He was still bleeding a little bit though, and when the water mingled with the fresh blood it only caused it to run faster.

"So am I," he mumbled in a low voice. I pulled away to look at him only to see him offer me a weak lopsided smile. It made me confused. Most people wouldn't smile after having their faces messed up by their best friend. Sam Evans is not like most guys though, which was something I learn quite quickly after he transferred to William McKinley High during junior year.

"I obviously hurt you. Finn made that pretty clear," the dorky blonde said with a shrug of his shoulders.

I could do nothing but close my eyes and shake my head. It was all so messed up! "You didn't . . . hurt me," I mumbled as I pressed another wet paper towel to his skin only to hear him hiss a little again.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked with that boyish half smirk again. "To hear me groan. To see me in pain. I bet it turns you on." I rolled my eyes theatrically. Sam was the only guy who would even try to turn a situation like this one into a joke. He was definitely the only one who would make sexual references while his nose was bleeding and one of his eyes were beginning to swell shut.

Okay, there may be one other guy . . . But Puck would probably already be nailing the girl who was trying to help him by this time. Sam wasn't like that.

I smiled and shook my head. "I am not a sadist, Sam," I said as I grabbed a new clean paper towel and put it under the tap. Then I used it to clean off the dried blood from his cheek. "You look horrible," I noted in a low voice after having observed his face for a short moment. His nose was swelling up and it had yet to stop bleed. Under his eyes had two purple bruises already begun to form. His lower lip had a small cut that didn't bleed anymore, but the lip was a little swollen

He probably wouldn't be able to go to work for a couple of days—not that I knew what he worked with—but showing up at your work place looking like you spent last night in Fight Club was probably not a very good idea.

Sam gave me a lopsided smirk. "Is it really that bad?" He began to rise from the bench. I nodded weakly and watched him walk over to the sink over which a large mirror was mounted to the wall. He winced at the blonde man that was staring back at him in the mirror before reaching up to gently touch his swelling nose. "I don't recall Finn having such a good right hook," he mumbled as he tilted his head to the side to inspect it out of another angle.

I walked up to stand beside him and gently placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," I whispered while I adverted my gaze to my feet. A few drops of blood had stained the white trainers and I inwardly groaned when thinking about how hard it would be to get the blood out of the fabric.

Sam glanced at me confused. "For Finn improving his fighting technique?" Then he added, "Isn't that a good thing. I mean, he's been in the army. He's gotta know how to defend himself. For the sake of his own survival."

I sighed. "You're rambling, Sam. And I wasn't . . . I wasn't talking about that."

He turned his gaze to the floor. "Oh," he mumbled quietly.

I think that was the time when I was supposed to say something along the line of 'I'm sorry that Finn hit you', 'I don't know why he would do that', 'I have no idea where he heard that we were sleeping together. Because we're not'. But for far from the first time that night I found my lips unable to form the words my mind wanted me to utter.

Sam must have felt my discomfort because he turned his face back to me and gave me a weak smile. Then he placed his hand on my shoulder and said in a hoarse voice, "Thanks for helping me clean off. Old habits die hard, huh?"

Inwardly I smiled, I couldn't believe that he still remembered all the times in high school that I would help him clean the slushies out of his hair.

"But I should probably get going now. Don't think my boss would like to see me here like this," he said and chuckled.

"You work here?" I asked surprised, then I more quietly added, "You're going to the hospital right?" When the blonde man refused to meet my gaze I instantly knew that he had no plans whatsoever to visits a hospital. "Come on, I'll drive you," I said and grabbed him gently by the arm.

* * *

I have never been particularly fond of visiting hospitals. Like most people I associate the sterile and antiseptic smelling environment with physical and psychological pain in different degrees.

I believe that the dislike of hospitals is something we, or at least I, picked up at a fairly young age. I particularly remember my first overnight stay at a hospital. It was on my fifth birthday when my mother brought me to the hospital to have a doctor examine me because I had started to make wheezing sounds when I breathed. I had been sick for about a week and a half when I was brought to see the doctor—I think his name was Maurice Hernandez—and I remember my mother telling him that she thought I was going to cough my lungs out. After the old Hispanic doctor had run all the appropriate tests on me he established that I had pneumonia.

Since I was so young, Doctor Hernandez choose to make me stay at the hospital until I got better.

I was placed in a ward with about four other patients, out of which only one was at the same age as me. My parents were, however, not allowed to stay the night with me and I remember how terrifying it was to see my mother and father leave the hospital without me. I thought they had left me for good. That I had done something wrong that made them not want me anymore. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Luckily, my fears proved wrong when my mother and father came back to visit me the day after. And a few days later, when my pneumonia was gone, I was sent home to my family again.

It took a couple of years, however, before I learned not to be afraid of hospitals. At the end of junior year in high school I even worked at Lima Memorial Health System a few hours at the weekends as an assistant to Lisa Mullins, a nurse my mother had gone to the same high school as.

My newly found liking for the medical and nursing professions as well as hospitals ended abruptly though when I, in senior year, got involved in a car accident that nearly cost me my life. I had been on my way to Finn and Rachel's first attempt at a wedding when I was T-boned by a pickup truck. My memories of the events that occurred directly after the crash is blurry at the best, but I do recall waking up firmly strapped to a hospital bed while the white light from a very strong overhead lamp stung my sensitive eyes. Around me I heard people whose voices were completely unfamiliar to me exchange medical terms of which I understood little to nothing. My body felt numb, and even though I focused all my strength on moving one single limb I found my body irresponsive. The fear that spread through my entire body at that moment was indescribable. I tried to get contact with one of the many nurses that were hovering over me, but no one seemed to hear me. I tried to scream, only to find that my vocal chords weren't obeying the orders my brain sent. To say I was terrified would have been an understatement.

Somehow, one of the nurses must have noticed that I had awakened, and it didn't take her long to prepare a shot of sedatives. The tiny prick that usually follows when a thin needle punctuates your skin went unnoticed by me, and soon I found myself drifting between semi consciousness and deep sleep.

That was the last time I had been in a hospital. Almost. There had been several check-ups and rehabilitation meetings with different doctors and physiotherapists, but I hadn't had to visit the hospital because of an acute injury—either one sustained by me or someone I knew—since my car crash in senior year.

Therefore I considered it to be pretty rational that I felt a little uncomfortable sitting in the waiting room at one of New York's smaller hospitals.

I had already drunk about four cups of lukewarm coffee that did absolutely nothing to ease the anxiety I felt, and drifted through half of the magazines that covered the small coffee table in front of me when I heard voices coming from the corridor that led to the east. It was the one that held the examination rooms; I knew that because it was where Sam had been taken when his name was finally called up some time ago.

"I advise you stay away from any kind of physical activities within the next couple of days," said a deep but kind voice that undoubtedly belonged to an older man. "Also I recommend you to try to keep your nose safe from any bump and pressure. I should also inform you that the bruising as well as the swelling may increase and that you may have problems breathing through your nose during a few days. If you experiences great pain I recommend you take Tylenol," the man continued his speech and I automatically rose as he rounded the corner with his patient in tow.

Sam nodded slowly to what the doctor had to say before he shook the older man's hand and thanked him for the help and advice he had provided. The doctor nodded and gave him a kindhearted smile before he turned around and walked back towards his room.

Unsure of what to do, I remained standing in front of the uncomfortable plastic chair in which I had been seated for the past hour. In my left hand I clutched my fourth cup of coffee and by my feet lay the worn grey duffel back that contained Sam's clean clothes which he had insisted we go get from his employee locker at the gym before we drove to the hospital.

The blonde man looked even worse now than he did an hour ago when we arrived to the hospital. The dried blood may have been cleaned off and the gash on the bridge of his nose had been covered with surgical tape, but what had an hour ago only been a sign of a bruise under his eye had now turned into a very distinct black eye and his nose had grown to almost twice its normal size. To say that he looked horrible would have been a huge understatement.

"Come one, it isn't that bad!" Sam quipped in what I assume was an attempt at lightening up the situation. The comment probably didn't have the effect Sam had desired which most likely had to do with the fact that I felt extremely guilty for what happened to him, even though I somewhere knew that there was nothing I could have done to prevent what Finn did.

I shifted my feet awkwardly before adverting my gaze to the duffle bag by my feet. I didn't want to answer the question, simply because anything other than a 'yes, it is' would have been a complete lie.

I could hear Sam moving, but I didn't dare to raise my eyes to see what he was doing. "You know I don't blame you, right?" the words came out soft and kind, which was far from what I believed they were entitled to be. I chewed my bottom lip in silence as I caught a glimpse of his blonde hair when he bent down to pick up his old duffle bag.

"If you don't have other plans, would you mind giving me a ride home?" he queered coyly after a while and offered me a lopsided grin. "We kind of left my car at the gym parking lot . . ."

With a quick roll of the eyes, I replied him in the best HBIC tone I could muster at the moment, "No, stupid, I'm letting you take the bus."

His mouth dropped open slightly to form a confused _O_, as his green eyes blinked in surprise. He fumbled with the strap of his duffel bag in embarrassment for a moment before he heaved it up on his shoulder and made himself ready to walk to the bus stop.

Just as he was about to pass me, I reached out and touched his arm gently. The action was nothing but a friendly gesture but nevertheless it sent a charge of electricity through my body that I don't think I was supposed to feel.

Sam twitched slightly as he felt my fingers connect with the bare skin of his forearm as if he too felt the electricity. "Did you really think I would let you take the bus?" I asked with a wry smile.

* * *

Author's note,

Hey, guys! I am so sorry I haven't updated this story since March 7. My aim is to post a new chapter once a week, but I've been super busy with school and hockey... Hopefully my schedule won't be as packed after my exam on Thursday.

I'm jumping a bit back and forth in time (not so much in this chapter, but in previous ones) and I hope it's not too confusing. If it is please let me know and I'll try to make it clearer in the future :)

Thank you for taking time to read this story and please leave a review to help me improve my writing :)

**FabrevansXOXOBrittana:** Thank you! I'm glad you liked it! :)

**Ceruleanblues:** Thank you so much!

There's something special about Sam that make me think that he could probably become whatever he wants. He's determined and dedicated and I think he's quite a good role model (except from the stripper arch last season maybe).

I am so happy that you find the characters entertaining and somewhat similar to the 'original' ones, because I've spent quite some time studying their behavior and trying to figure out what kind of language they use when they interact with different people and so on :)

**RJRRAA:** I'm glad you like the chapter. And I love the Unholy Trinity too! Santana, Brittany and Quinn spend way too little time together on the show nowadays.

**Sydney:** I don't want to reveal anything so instead I'm going to ask you what you think should happen. Should Quinn get pregnant or not?

**SamEvans17:** Thank you! :D I can't even describe how glad I am to hear that so many people like the way I write Santana, because I was actually very unsure whether I managed to even come close to being half as witty and funny as she is.


	8. Chapter 8

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 8_

I am usually not one to call on my friends mistakes, simply because I have made so many myself. I know that for the most part you become aware of the fact that you have made a mistake rather quickly after it has happened if you haven't already noticed it while doing it. And you don't really need all your friends pointing it out to you.

However, not all of my friends' slips will be allowed to pass without any comment. I have to draw the line somewhere, right?

That is why the first thing I did, when I came home to my own apartment, was to grab my phone and dial the number to one of New York's most famous fashion designers.

I was tapping my foot impatiently against the kitchen table leg as I waited for the other end to be picked up. When I finally heard something other than the monotonous beeping that indicated that my call was coming through, I didn't waste any time. "I can't believe you told Finn!" I practically screamed into the phone.

A few very long seconds passed before I received any response from the other person. "I didn't! I mean . . . it wasn't my intention! It just . . ." Kurt stammered desperately and for a split second I almost felt sorry for snapping at the guy, but then I quickly reminded myself of how Sam's face looked when I dropped him off at the gym parking lot an hour and a half ago. I winced as I imagined how much it must have hurt. "I'm so sorry," Kurt breathed quietly.

Obviously some things never change. I remember in high school—I believe it was in junior year—when a rumor spread stating that Brittany was pregnant with Artie's child. I think it started with Brittany telling Santana that she may have a bun in the oven. Then Santana went straight to Tina and Tina told Puck. The residential bad boy—who at that point still dated Lauren Zizes—then told none other than just Lauren, and she later broke the news to Artie.

I also remember how Kurt and I were both rumored to have love affairs with Sam, even though we were both dating other boys at the moment – Kurt was with Blaine and I was still dating Finn.

If there is one thing current students as well as former students of William McKinley High School are good at it is creating and spreading rumors. So perhaps I should not be surprised when me spending the night at Sam's apartment soon spiraled into Sam and I sleeping together and from there it turned into Sam forcing me to have sex with him. Though this rumor was a little more extreme than the previous ones that had circled among the members of what once was the second Glee Club in William McKinley High's history to win Nationals.

"You shouldn't be saying that to me," I deadpanned.

Kurt's shallow breathing could be heard over the slight static sound that emitted from the phone. "W-what do you mean?" he asked confused and I could tell that he was afraid to hear what I was about to say.

Drawing a deep breath I braced myself for what I was going to share. "Finn hurt Sam, Kurt. He hurt him really bad," I mumbled and to my own surprise I had to fight to keep my eyes dry. On the other end of the line Kurt could be heard making a sharp intake of air.

I had not expected it to be difficult to talk about, so when I found that I barely could restrain my emotions, it surprised me, partially because I am not very good at showing emotions. Sure I have burst into tears in school in front of all of my friends, and I have had my fair share of outbursts – mostly at Rachel. But usually I am rather good at keeping my feelings hidden. It is not for nothing that some people refer to me as 'the Ice Queen'.

After a few long moments of uncomfortable silence, Kurt finally snapped out of his momentary muteness. He cleared his throat awkwardly and took a couple of what I believe was supposed to be calming breaths. "How did you know it was me who told Finn?" he eventually asked in an almost inaudible voice.

I shook my head slowly as if I was still trying to tell myself that this was all a nightmare; that I would wake up in the morning and nothing of this would have happened. Sam's face wouldn't be black and blue, Finn wouldn't know anything about what happened the night of Sam's party and I would still be effectively avoiding the blonde haired man. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case though.

A loud sigh escaped my barely parted lips and I let my head fall back against the kitchen chair back. "I called Rachel on my way from dropping off Sam. She was furious. Finn had come home just minutes prior smelling heavily of alcohol and his knuckles had been bleeding." I let my gaze sweep over the kitchen counter. It really needed to be cleaned, but I didn't have the power to do so right at this moment. "She swore that she had not told Finn anything. In fact, she claimed that she hadn't talked with anyone expect me about what may or may not have happened between Sam and I."

"Oh," Kurt breathed quietly. "I truly am sorry." A long sequence of silence passed where I honestly begun to think that Kurt had hung up on me. That was soon proven wrong though. "So do you want to talk about it?" he eventually asked in a gently voice.

Slowly I shook my head and sighed. I had no desire whatsoever to retell the memories of earlier today that still were relatively fresh in my mind. A strong feeling of guilt was hanging over me, pushing my shoulders to slump and my head to hang low, already. Reliving the event would not make those feelings lift from my shoulders in the slightest.

Another loud sigh escaped my lips as I let my gaze drop down to my left hand that was resting lightly on the table top in front of me. Chips in the metallic blue polish hinted that it was time to have my nails repainted. But at the moment I could think of about a million different things that would be more important than to get my nails fixed. What caught my eye, however, was not the chipped metallic blue polish that coated my finger nails, or the thin golden ring I got from my grandmother on my twenty-first birthday which adorned my middle finger. What drew my attention were the small maroon stains at the cuff of my grey Nike sweat shirt. Sam's blood, I breathed inaudibly before I removed the hand from the table and placed it in my knee.

To see the blood on my sweater got me thinking about what happened earlier today again. As much as I didn't want to talk about it, I somewhere inside felt that it was necessary. "You know how I usually go to the gym when I'm upset about something?" I said and waited for Kurt to mumble a quiet 'yeah', before I continued. "I felt so disappointed and angry with myself this morning that I decided to go down to the gym and literally beat the shit out of the punching bag. And so I did." A short break was made as I drew a ragged breath. "But suddenly I started to feel dizzy and everything begun to spin around me and the next thing I know Sam is there saving me from a hard kiss by the floor."

"Always the savior," Kurt whispered in something I could only describe as a dreaming voice. It was no secret that Kurt had had a minor crush on the blonde when the letter first transferred to McKinley high in the fall of 2010.

I shook my head slowly. "And from there it all went Costa Rica!" I exclaimed and buried my head in my unoccupied hand. "From out of nowhere comes Finn and knocks Sam to the floor. He keeps screaming things like 'that's for hurting her' and 'if you ever touch her again I'm gonna kill you'. I've never seen Finn so mad, Kurt! It was so scary! Then he hit Sam again. And again. And there was this sickening crack, like when bone breaks and then Sam was bleeding profusely and—"

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Kurt and the muffled sound that followed suggested that the slender man had covered his mouth with his hand in pure shock. "W-what happened then?"

"I, uh . . . I helped Sam clean off and then we . . . I drove him to the hospital where a doctor told him his nose was broken and that he needed to take it easy for a couple of days." I swallowed hard as the image of a bruised Sam stepping out of the examination room came into my head. "He looked so bad, Kurt! His entire face was swollen and he made these wheezing sounds whenever he tried to breathe through his nose. And the bruises—" my voice cracked.

"Was it worse than in high school when he got into a fight with Karofsky?" Kurt asked gingerly, as if he feared the answer. Even though the young brunette man could not see me I nodded slowly and sucked my bottom lip in between my teeth.

"Much worse," I replied after a moment of silence before I continued to chew on my bottom lip. "And all the while he kept saying that it was 'okay' and that he was completely 'fine'."

"Oh . . ." Kurt mumbled almost inaudibly. "But at least it proves I was right," he then added in a brighter tone.

My eyebrows knitted together in a confused frown as my mouth formed a small _O_. "Proved what?" I queered, not at all following the brunette man's train of thought.

He snickered heartedly before he opened his mouth to answer my query, or so I thought. "I find it somewhat amusing how you, the girl who graduated from high school with straight A's, does not seem to notice what is right in front of you. I am, however, not going to spoil what I personally believe may be one of the most exciting parts of the game, darling."

"What game?" I blinked in confusion, now feeling completely lost. Is it like this is feels to be Finn or Brittany, I caught me asking myself.

"Oh, sweetie, the game of love, of course."

* * *

I was still pondering what Kurt could possibly have meant by his 'the most exciting part of the game, darling.' comment he made during our telephone conversation just after I had returned home to my apartment after having driven Sam to the hospital a few days ago. However, it seemed that no matter how much thought I put into it I still couldn't manage to wrap my head around what he had meant. There was obviously some hidden meaning behind it, but I simply couldn't grasp what it could be.

The mystery had occupied my thoughts for a little over four days now, ever since Kurt ended that late night phone call. But nevertheless, I had still not succeeded in figuring out what he had meant.

Well, that conversation with Kurt had not been the only thing that had occupied my mind for the past few days. I had spent quite some time trying to come up with some way to settle things between Sam, Finn and me. Since that night at the gym when Finn had burst through the doors and literally attacked Sam I had not talked to either of the two men. Simply, I felt too embarrassed to call them and I am sure at least Finn experienced roughly the same kind of feelings, or at least that's what I managed to understand from my telephone conversation with Rachel earlier this morning.

The not so tall brunette woman had stated that her fiancé had appeared very low for the past few days and that he had been unusually quiet and mentally absent.

To hear Rachel say that both made me feel sad and happy. I felt glad because it showed that he regretted what he had done, sure Kurt had stated that his stepbrother most likely did what he had done because he cared about me and didn't want me to get hurt, but in my opinion that does not excuse his uncivilized behavior. At the same time I felt sad for him. I knew that his ulterior motive was well-intended and that what he did was done because he cared about me, but it had all been a huge misunderstanding and he had not needed to act like that. It could all have been solved much more civilized.

And, yeah, Sam and I talked a little on the way from the hospital to his place, but somehow every time one of us tried to bring up what happened at his party the other one would change the subject. I don't really know why we kept doing that when we both obviously wanted to talk about it, but I suppose we were both afraid that the other wouldn't like the answer or something like that.

So instead of talking about his party, or more specifically what happened _after_ the party, I continued to repeatedly apologize for Finn punching him. Which in a way was quite ridiculous because what could I have done to stop him from doing that? Okay, I could have refrained from telling Santana and her big mouth about it, she was after all the one who had told Kurt, but I needed to talk to someone about it!

A few yards from where I was going to drop him off it got to the point when Sam couldn't stand my apologies any longer. I guess the pounding in his head and the pain in his nose was contributing to his lack of patience.

"Quinn, can you just, please, be quiet for ten seconds," he had groaned and dropped his head back on the headrest.

I had stared at him dumfounded for a few long seconds before I had tried to explain to him. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't told Santana, she would not have—"

He had held up a hand, effectively shutting me up. "God, Quinn, when are you gonna realize that everything bad that happens in this world isn't your fault? You blame yourself for what Finn just did. You blame yourself for Mr. Schue and that psycho chick Terry's divorce though according to everyone else in Glee Club that was bound to happened even if you hadn't agreed to help her fake her pregnancy, because apparently she was a capital bitch," he said ticking the reasons off on his fingers. "You blame yourself for supporting Kitty when she was torturing Marley, when she would have been just as mean even if she hadn't had you defending her." He raised another finger. "You blame yourself for your father kicking you out of your house. You blame yourself for you mother's drinking problem. I bet that if you could you'd probably try to make it your fault that Puck got you pregnant even though you were so damn drunk you barely remember what happened!" I think he realized shortly after finishing that last sentence that he had crossed the line, but by that time I had already raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face.

"Get out of my car!" I had screamed and he had just stared at me in response, a red handprint already beginning to take form on his cheek. "Get out of my car you fucking asshole! All you ever do is mess people's lives up! You make them like you, open up to you and then you stab them in the back."

"You're one to speak!" he yelled back to me and I immediately knew he was referring to the Finn-incident in high school.

Grounding my teeth I glared back at him in the meanest HBIC-Quinn stare I could muster. "Get out of my car. Get. The hell. Out. "

After shaking his head in what I could best describe as disappointment he unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the door open and stepped out. Before he slammed the door shut he leaned in and muttered, "You know I honestly thought you had changed."

After that I had driven back to my apartment with hot tears stinging the back of my eyes.

Having all these thoughts rushing through my head was undeniably wearing me out. I was feeling constantly tired and I had problems concentrating. Therefore I decided to do something to break the vicious circle. Later tonight I was scheduled to work at the bar my dear friend Landon Parker's rich uncle owned, so I decided to head down to the bar a few hours earlier; perhaps I could help prepare the bar counter or set the light and music. Anything that would keep my mind busy from thinking about the past few days would be wonderful. I would almost gladly accept cleaning the customer bathrooms, even though I knew how disgusting they could be.

Since the sun was shining brightly outside and the temperature was well above sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit I decided to walk the short distance to the bar. It wasn't more than a thirty minute walk, give or take a few minutes, but the fresh air—as fresh as it could get in central New York—made me good. When I finally reached the family owned bar I was in a much better mood than I had been when I first exited my apartment. However, to say that I was in a _great_ mood would have been an overstatement . . .

"Hey Quinn!" a kind male voice greeted me as I stepped through the entrance. I instantly recognized it as Landon's. The twenty- something man possessed a very particular accent. He was born and raised in New York to American parents so his English was perfect, but there were certain traits in his accent that made it very special. He claimed it had to do with his grandfather being Cuban and his grandmother being Italian. According to himself he had picked up on how his grandparents pronounced certain words and that had just stuck with him for some reason.

The tall broad shouldered brunette was busy putting clean glasses on the shelves under the bar. Only the top of his head was peaking up from behind the frosted glass counter. "You're in early," he noted and placed his large hands on the counter top as he pushed himself up from the crouched position he had been in.

I shrugged and gave him a small smile. "I didn't have anything to do, so I thought I'd just as well come in a few minutes earlier." it wasn't a complete lie. The day had been pretty slow. But mostly I didn't want to talk to Finn and Sam who both had left messages on my answering machine, where they asked me to call back. Finn probably wanted to apologize for what happened at the gym almost a week ago, but seriously, shouldn't he be apologizing to Sam? The blonde man was after all the one who had to go see a doctor to have his nose checked out—it turned out to be broken—and the gash above his eye stitched.

What Sam wanted I was not quite sure. He had tried to contact me earlier in the week but I had not bothered to call him back. I still felt a little ashamed for what happened the night of his party, though I had figured out from what little he had mentioned about the night that nothing really happened between us. Also, I wasn't sure I could look him in the eye after what happened at the gym and in the car before I dropped him off.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Landon asked with his eyebrows knitted together. It was sweet how he seemed to truly care about me even though we hadn't known each other for that very long.

I gave him a short nod and walked up to the bar. My jacket and purse were carelessly thrown on the counter in front of me. Landon gave me a curious look before he reached over and grabbed my things. He hung them on a clothes hanger on the wall behind the bar and walked over to stand in front of me on the other side of the counter. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Your body language is telling me the opposite," he pointed out as he bent down and grabbed a glass from under the counter. I sighed loudly and placed my elbows on the frosted glass top. "Boyfriend?" he asked and unscrewed the cap on an expensive scotch whiskey.

With another loud sigh I let my head sink down into my open palms. "No," I mumbled, "that was a long time ago."

Landon nodded slowly. "Okay, so are we talking about a persistent ex-boyfriend who refuses to let go?" he queered while he poured scotch into the glass. I shook my head slowly. "Okay . . . So what about this dude?" he slid the glass across the counter until it was right under my nose.

"What about him?" I countered with a question, while I glanced down at the drink he had placed in front of me. I gave him a questioning look.

The brunette shrugged. "Has he hooked up with one—or several—of your friends without telling you?" he said and then nodded towards the glass in front of me. "It'll help, I promise."

Slowly I shook my head. "No. No, he didn't." I mumbled and let my slender fingers wrap around the cold glass. "You don't think your uncle will be mad when he finds out that I've been drinking while on the clock?" I queered a bit guiltily.

Landon chuckled and I couldn't help but let the corners of my lips pull upwards, his laugh always had that effect on me. "As far as I'm concerned, your shift hasn't even started yet. Besides, who says he has to find out. If he makes a comment about you smelling of whiskey, just shrug and tell him that some random dude tripped and accidently spilled some of his drink on you. He'll most definitely buy that."

I smirked at him. "Thank you," I said almost inaudibly and lifted the glass to my lips. The maple liquid burned my throat as it effortlessly slid down. And maybe it made me feel a little better, or maybe it was just my head and heart willing me to believe so.

Opposite me Landon was smiling compassionately. "I take it, judging by your taciturnity, you're not very keen on discussing what is troubling you any further. It's perfectly understandable. Just remember that I'm all ears _if _and _when_ you change your mind and want someone to talk to," he said slowly and turned to replace the bottle of whiskey on the shelf behind him.

I let my index finger trace the rim of the glass as my mind processed what he had said. "Thank you," I said almost inaudibly and brought the whiskey glass back to my lips.

He gave me a closed lip smile. "You don't need to thank me," he mumbled and walked out from behind the counter. He was dressed, as usual, in a pair of fairly tight fitting black jeans and a baby blue bottom up shirt that clung tight to his well-toned chest and arms. He gave me a quick smirk when he caught me glancing at him. "You want a tip?" he queered with a smug smirk. Confused of what he was talking about I hesitantly nodded my head. He chuckled amused. "Try to be less obvious when you're checking someone out."

I found myself blinking in confusion. "W-what?" I managed to stutter.

Landon just laughed at me and as he passed me he patted a hand on my shoulder. "I'm just kidding. And I'm an asshole, I know." with furrowed eyebrows I turned my head to glance at him. "If you don't hate me now because of that, would you mind finishing what's left to do in the bar? I've gotta go call my uncle, ask him what to do with all those empty bottle crates in the storage."

"Well," I said with a drawl, "I don't know about that." If he wanted to play, I may as well play along.

"I'll owe you a drink after the shift's over," he said with a smirk, before he disappeared into a room at the rear back of the bar.

I rolled my eyes playfully and pushed off the bar stool. "Well, if you put it like that," I teased and walked up behind the counter.

"I'm a man of my word," I heard the brunette call from one of the rooms at the back of the bar, and I couldn't help but smirk. It was something about the comment that made it impossible for me to keep a straight face. For some reason I felt like I had heard those words before.

* * *

Author's note,

Finally, the eighth chapter! I've suffered from a writer's block and combined with three essays and two exams in less than two weeks it has resulted in very little progress on this story. But now I'm back on track again and hopefully I'll be able to return to weekly updates again. Your kind reviews have been super encouraging and I love you all so very much for taking time to read and review! You are amazing! :)

Please let me know what you think of this chapter! I hope it answered some of your questions :)

**Mysticmonkey86:** Wow, thank you so much, I'm flattered! :) And I hope you liked this chapter! By the way, I'm patiently waiting for an update on 'Friends' :)

**SamEvans17:** Thank you! :) I hope you liked this chapter even though Sam and Quinn got into a fight. I promise there will be a lot more Sam in upcoming chapters :)

**Sydney:** That was my thought as well when I first started writing this story. I like the idea of Sam and Quinn building a family together, but somehow it doesn't feel right to have history repeat itself (Puck & Beth).

**RJRRAA:** Thank you! :) Quinn is definitely asking herself the same question and every time she is about to ask Sam about it she changes her mind... Finn's proven to be quite hot-tempered during the four years he's been walking the halls of McKinley High – I've lost count on how many times he's picked fights with the other boys (Sam, Puck, Karofsky and so on... and don't forget all the chairs he's kicked over).

**FabrevansXOXOBrittana:** Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it! :) Quinn doesn't know yet if they slept together and you get the story from her point of view. She's been so close to asking Sam on several occasions but there is always something stopping her – I've always pictured Quinn as a rather complex character who has serious issues when it comes to talking about her feelings and vulnerabilities. I guess, however, that I could have made this clearer... I promise you that you will find out quite soon what happened after the party :)


	9. Chapter 9

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 9_

A little over a week and a half had passed since the incident in the gym with Sam and Finn, when I was forced to confront one of the two men. And to say that I was nervous would have been a huge understatement.

Since that night at the gym I had been effectively avoiding both men. The two of them had left at least one voice message each on my phone but I had neglected to call either of them back. Some might want to call it childish behavior on my part, but the truth was I felt so ashamed that I simply couldn't stand talking to neither of them.

Nevertheless, here I sat by a set dinner table together with Finn, Kurt, Blaine, LeRoy and Hiram waiting for Rachel to arrive. The short brunette woman had just gotten off stage after her first performance as Elphaba in _Wicked_, and naturally she wanted to celebrate. Thus she had invited her fathers and all her closest friends to meet her at a fancy restaurant downtown.

Feeling a little out of place I awkwardly kneaded the hem of my dark blue baby doll dress while I did my best not to catch Finn's empty stare. Beside me Blaine, to my left, and Kurt, to my right, were deeply engaged in a conversation with Rachel's two fathers concerning Broadway now and then. Names like Chita Rivera, Brian Stokes Mitchell, Patti LuPone, Nathan Lane and Liza Minnelli were mentioned together with Jan Maxwell, Kelli O'Hara, Steve Kazee and Jeremy Jordan. To me, a very small number of those names rang a bell; of course I knew who Liza Minnelli and Patti LuPone were, after all I wasn't born yesterday, but the others . . . I can't say I've ever heard of their names before.

By the time we finished the main course my mood had lightened a little. I didn't have to fight to pull off a perfect fake smile, the smiles actually came naturally and I had even managed to exchange a few friendly words with Finn, despite the tension that still sat between the two of us. Perhaps Kurt and Rachel's idea of Finn and me spending some time together in the company of others did all those good things to me. Or maybe it was just the wine...

Nevertheless, we had quite a good time. We talked about all sorts of things; school, work, theatre, Broadway, food, movies, music, friends we had in common, home decoration and clothes. Mostly we talked about Glee Club and music though. It was the one thing we all had in common. Well, LeRoy and Hiram never were in Glee Club with us, but they knew quite a lot about it from everything Rachel had told them.

We were all smiling at a story Blaine had just told about how he ended up at McKinley High because of Kurt, whom he referred to as not only his first real love but also the love of his life, when Finn completely unannounced started chuckling.

A bit confused and certainly surprised everyone around the table slowly turned their heads to gaze at the laughing brown haired man. His eyes were beginning to water slightly as he tried to suppress an additional fit of laughter.

Beside Finn Rachel was glancing worriedly at him. "Are you okay, honey?" I heard her whisper quietly while she tugged lightly at the sleeve of his dark blazer. Finn just nodded and started to laugh even harder.

"Yeah! Yeah! I'm fine," he managed to breathe after a while. "Do you remember in sophomore year when Kurt got the entire football team to perform 'Single Ladies' during one of our games?" he exclaimed excitedly, while he begun move his body to an inaudible beat at the same time as he brought his hands up in front of him to point at his ring finger.

"Don't underestimate the power of a good R'nB track and some kickass dance moves. You won that game because of _me_, Finn Hudson!" Kurt pointed out with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Everyone around the table burst out into laughter.

It wasn't until LeRoy open his mouth to speak that we managed to calm ourselves a little. The older man had been observing his daughter's fiancé for quite some time.

"What happened to your hand, Finn?" LeRoy asked trying not to sound too suspicious. But the way his eyes were narrowing and his forehead wrinkled told me he already had a pretty good idea of what had happened. It is scary sometimes how much parents can 'feel' what's going on. I am certain that my mother knew I was pregnant way before I told her and my father – or rather, before Finn told them . . .

"Oh, that," the brunette mumbled as if he just now noticed the healing cuts on his right hand knuckles. Dried blood, almost black to the color, signaled where the skin had raptured and the ragged skin around the scratches had taken on a light hint of red where bacteria had obviously found its way into the lacerations before he had had time to clean them. Finn clenched and unclenched his fist a few times before he withdrew his hand from on top of the table and placed it in his lap.

An intense tension quickly settled over us and I could feel how my throat was growing uncomfortably tight and dry.

Finn was blinking slowly; I could practically see the wheels in his head turning as he tried to come up with an excuse that wouldn't sound too far-fetched. Admitting that you beat up one of your best friends over a misunderstanding wasn't exactly the thing you wanted to share with your future fathers-in-law.

Beside me Kurt was shifting in his seat awkwardly whilst he tried to not catch Hiram or LeRoy's eye. The slim fashion designer had never been very good at keeping secrets.

As the tension grew more wearing I could feel my throat tightening even more and the back of my eyes beginning to burn. The last thing I wanted right now was to drag LeRoy and Hiram into this mess.

I couldn't let them see my tears thus I rose from the table with the excuse that I needed to go to the lady's room.

It was days like this one that I was glad I always carried additional sets of more or less everything that could be found in the hot pink vanity case, which I stored at home in my bathroom cabinet, in my purse.

With a slightly shaky hand—my crying may have ceased, but the shaking sure hadn't—I applied a thin layer of black mascara to my upper lashes and a little rosy lip gloss on my lips, before I decided I looked acceptable enough to return to the table where Rachel, Kurt, Blaine and the others probably were starting to wonder what was going on.

I had not gotten much further than a few feet outside the bathroom door before a hand on my shoulder made me startle. Quickly I spun around to find Finn standing there looking rather uncomfortable and insecure. "I've talked to Sam," he said in a voice barely louder that a whisper, before I could form any kind of word. I remained silent, simply because I had no idea what to respond to that.

"He says he's cool."

I nodded slowly. I was glad to hear that the two men had worked out their little dispute, but I still hadn't talked to Sam after I dropped him off by his car in the gym parking lot, for obvious reasons.

"I'm really sorry, Quinn," Finn mumbled and lowered his gaze to the floor. "It's just that you still mean a lot to me even though we're not dating. You'll always be special to me."

His words were sweet and I know any other girl would probably be melting on the inside right now, but apparently I'm not like everyone else. At least not anymore. On the contrary, the pain I felt was excruciating, it was as if someone had gotten a firm grip on my heart and just kept squeezing it. I know I should probably be glad for the fact that he finally manned up and apologized for his behavior, but for some reason it just made me feel even guiltier. Had I just talked to Sam the day after his party none of this would have happened . . .

Suddenly my eyes were moist again and I inwardly cursed myself. I was weak! Once again not wanting to show anyone my tears, not even Finn, I rapidly I shook my head before I mumbled something along the line of 'I have to go, tell Rachel I'm sorry,' and then I hurried out of the restaurant.

Hot tears were burning the back of my eyes and my vision was awfully blurry when I finally managed to flag down a yellow cab. The driver gave me a compassionate look but chose not to speak, which I was awfully grateful for.

* * *

My shift was finally starting to come to an end when the clock stroke 11.30 pm. It had been an unusually busy night and by now my head was feeling slightly heavy and my feet quite sore. With a heavy sigh I entered the only personnel bathroom, at the rear of the bar, and closed the door behind me.

The cold water from the tap felt good against my face as I splashed it over my face. As I straightened my back again I took a good look at the woman that was staring back at me in the mirror. The long blonde hair that had been pulled into a high pony—kind of like the one Coach Sylvester forced us Cheerios to sport—had gotten slightly messy after all the hours of serving drinks to already half wasted men and women. Tired hazel orbs were staring back at me as the cold water dripped from my chin.

With a loud sigh I grabbed a couple of paper towels from the shelf and dried my face with them. Then I pulled out the red rubber band that had been used to hold together my now below shoulder blade long hair. Quickly I raked my hands through the blonde mess before I effortlessly pulled it up into a perfect tight high pony again. I threw another glance at the young woman in the bathroom mirror. Coach Sylvester would be proud I noted as I observed my spotless and smooth ivory skin, the straight back and the perfect high pony.

A light knock on the door brought me out of my thoughts and I swiftly smoothed out the wrinkles on my white blouse before I turned the brass knob and gently pushed the door open. Outside I was greeted by Landon who wore a rather concerned look on his face.

A tad surprised, both by the look on his face, and to find him outside the bathroom door and not behind the counter, I worriedly asked him what was going on.

The brunette brought his right hand up to rub at his neck. "Laura called in sick again," he mumbled quietly. "My uncle's telling me to ask you to take her shift. I know you've already worked for like eight consecutive hours, but there's no one else I can ask. Clair, as you know, is in Chicago and Dana can't find a babysitter—"

"You're rambling," I mumbled quietly while I slowly closed the bathroom door behind my back. Landon stared at me in silence for a short moment before he seemed to snap out of his stupor. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

"I'll take her shift. No worries," I said and offered him a small smile that I hoped looked more cheerful than I felt. He nodded rapidly and thanked me before he hurried back to the counter.

About three minutes later I returned to the 'floor' as the other waitresses and I used to call it. It was, as I had already noted about a hundred times, an awfully busy night.

I was busy picking empty glasses and bottles from a deserted table when a voice behind me startled me and almost made me drop the tray I was balancing in one hand. "Quinn?" the deep yet soft voice queered. I didn't need to think twice to recognize who it belonged to. And honestly it scared the living shit out of me. Wasn't one confrontation enough for forty-eight hours?

Obviously fate didn't think so, and neither did Sam Evans.

In slow motion I positioned the last glass on the tray before I turned around. Perhaps I was hoping that if I moved slowly enough he would think that he had confused _me_ with someone else. Sam is not stupid though, despite all the times his mathematics and history teachers told him otherwise.

"Hey," he said softly, a small lopsided grin plastered on his face. The way his eyes cringed and how his cute dimples became visible showed that he was genuinely happy to see me, despite how our last meeting ended. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Something told me that that was a lie, but I didn't have the strength to start an argument with him at this point. Especially not because of such a trifle.

It turned out I didn't need to confront him about it though.

"Well, actually Finn told me about it . . ." he said and rubbed his neck in a nervous gesture. "I've been trying to call you. I think we need to—"

I sighed loudly. "Listen, Sam, I don't have time for this right now. If you haven't noticed I've got work to do," I said irritated not wanting to have that conversation with him right here right now. I know I probably overreacted a little, but I was tired and all I really wanted was to go home and crawl into bed though that was not going to happen anytime soon.

"Q! Quinn, you listen to me!" Sam said, raising his voice only a little, but it was enough to grab the attention of the people closest around us.

The blonde man had always been the one of us who had been the best of keeping his calm. However, he grabbed my wrist as I was about to spin around and walk away from him. His grip wasn't too firm, I knew he would never do anything that could hurt someone, but it was enough to keep me from going anywhere.

His ocean colored eyes gazed down at me with such intensity; I swear I was getting lightheaded from his stare alone. Even though I tried not to I couldn't help but notice how my own gaze seemed to gravitate towards his eyes. Those sweet sea water colored orbs had always intrigued me, probably because I could never determine what color they really were. Tonight they looked more emerald than sapphire though.

"You've been neglecting to answer my calls all week when, frankly, I believe that if it's someone who should be avoiding anyone I think it's Finn and me who should be avoiding each other." He still hadn't let go of my arm and his voice was still a few notches louder than usual. Around us a few guests had noticed our rather little dispute and turned their heads in our direction.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a brown haired man walking towards Sam and I. The red and blue light from the spotlights above the bar made his hair look as if it had blue, red and purple highlights in it, which looked quite funny.

"Is this man bothering you, Quinn?" Landon asked as he reached us. His face looked calm and so did his stance, but his eyes spoke a completely different story.

I hesitated for a short moment, debating whether it would be a wise move to pretend that I didn't know Sam. It would most likely get the blonde kicked out of the bar and I wouldn't have to have this talk with him right now, but on the other hand it would most likely turn into a scene and Sam would most certainly never want to talk to me again. Thus, I soon decided that that probably wouldn't be a very clever idea.

Therefore, after a sequence of rather pressing silence, I answered Landon's query with a weak shake of my head and a barely audible 'No'. The brunette gave me a questioning look which I returned with a quick smile. The last thing I needed right now was another fight.

"Well, if that's the case I guess I'll have to introduce myself," he said with a slight drawl as he put on the best friendly smile he could muster and extended a hand towards Sam. After some hesitation the blonde grabbed it and shook it firmly.

"Landon Parker. I'm an old friend of Quinn's. Actually we went to college together, kind of. I graduated a year before her, but we were on the same program. And who are you?"

Suddenly I felt a strong impulse of hitting Landon in the head. He could be the sweetest and friendliest guy, but at the same time he could manage to say the most idiotic things. Luckily, Sam didn't seem to get_ too_ offended by Landon's blunt query, or he had just become a better actor than he was in high school. However, I could sense some sarcasm in his words when he finally opened his mouth.

"Old friend, huh? Well, what do you know . . ." he muttered barely loud enough for anyone to pick up. I gave him a quick glance, but he didn't seem to notice. "The name's Sam Evans. Q and I, we go way back." As the blonde introduced himself something in Landon's eyes changed, though I cannot quite put my finger on what it was.

An awfully long sequence of silence passed when none of us knew what to say. I could tell Sam made several attempts, but the words died on his tongue before he could pronounce them. Beside him Landon had been shuffling his black Converse All Stars against the blank floor in need of having something to occupy himself with.

After what felt like an hour, but in fact was no more than half a second, the tall brunette spoke up. "So, Sam, you came here for a drink I presume? We've got some fine scotch I would recommend. My uncle personally imported it from Scotland."

The blonde appeared to be contemplating the suggestion for a moment, before he finally shook his head. Blonde bangs fell in his eyes as his head moved and a sudden urge to reach up and brush them away hit me. I slowly rocked on the heels of my black ballerina flats as I peered at him from under long black lashes.

"Nah. I think I'm gonna pass on that one. Work tomorrow, you know," Sam mumbled before he shoot Landon a simple 'bye' and gave me a quick glance. "See you, Quinn."

Landon and I watched as the broad-shouldered blonde pulled the front door open and stepped out into the mild night air.

* * *

"Sam Evans you said?" Landon uttered in a curious voice as he leaned his elbows on the counter top. Light gray eyes were observing my profile. Almost fifteen minutes had passed since the last costumer left the bar and Landon turned the sign on the door that said 'open' to show 'closed' instead. Completely drenched form all our physical power we both had dropped down on a bar stool each.

"Yeah," I said nodding my head.

The brunette used the hand not occupied by a bottle of mineral water to thoughtfully scratch his jaw. "The Ohio State quarterback Sam Evans?" he queered and I nodded, though a little hesitantly. I wasn't sure Sam had been QB; all I knew was that he had been enrolled at Ohio State University for some time and that he had played football there.

With raised eyebrows he gave me a surprised expression as if he wasn't entirely sure I was telling the truth. After a short moment of observing me he seemed to come to the conclusion that I was indeed being honest with him. "Oh, that's impressing," he mused aloud. "You know, he was a very promising player. I come from a real football family. Both my brother and I used to play, and so did my father and my grandfather and so on and so forth. Anyway, the experts anticipated that this Evans kid would go early in the draft. Like top ten," he said, and I found it quite amusing that he referred to Sam as 'kid'. How great was the age difference between them? One year? Two years? "I haven't heard anything about him in a while though . . ."

While chewing my bottom lip in thought I began to process what Landon had said. I had a vague memory of Sam mentioning Philadelphia . . . Eagles. Was it Eagles? "Well, I think he quit. There was this lockout, you know like the ones they've had in the NHL a few times—"

"You're interested in hockey? I didn't take you for that kind of girl," the brunette exclaimed with an astonished look on his face. Had he not looked so amusing I would probably have scolded him for making assumptions about me, even though he had a point – I wasn't really interested in hockey. But I hated it when people just assumed things about me because of how I looked or acted.

"Oh, no, no. Sam and Puck, Noah Puckerman, a friend of mine, are. They have tried to explain those lockouts to me I don't know how many times!"

"Oh, I see," he smirked.

"Mm."

"So this Evans dude, how do you know him?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. It seemed so long ago I first met the goofy blonde. Nevertheless, our first encounter was still fresh in my memory. Who forgets a guy—a quite handsome blonde guy with a cute smile, nevertheless—who introduces himself by saying: 'Hi, I'm Sam. Sam-I-am. And I don't like green eggs and ham'? The connection he made between his name and the undeniably popular children's book, was hilarious, in my opinion, though Santana didn't seem to be of the same opinion as she rudely stated that he would have 'no game'. Gosh, how wrong she was!

"Uh, he transferred to McKinley, the high school I went to, while I was in junior year," I informed him while finding it close to impossible to keep a small smile from sneaking up on my face.

"Really?" He gave me a raised eyebrow as if he wasn't completely buying the story.

I nodded. "Yeah. He was a real dork, you know. Comic book fan, quoted _Avatar,_ he could even speak Na'vi more or less fluently, and he had this really ridiculous Bieber hair cut going on. You remember who Justin Bieber was?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Short, brown haired dude with girly voice?"

I tried to suppress a giggle but failed noticeably. "Yeah, that's Bieber."

"Cool. But what's Nahvee?"

I chuckled heartedly. "Na'vi. N-A-V-I; stress on the first syllable. It's the Avatar language."

"Oh." He shook his head slowly. "Well, that was kind of unexpected . . . But at the same time not." He laughed. "So what you're saying is that this dude, Sam Evans, used to be a real loser in high school?"

"What?" I snickered. "No, no, no. Or I mean . . . Well, I suppose . . . I guess he, we—" Landon shoot me a confused look. In his eyes one was either popular or unpopular. Landon had always been the popular type.

Taking a moment to think about how the girls talked about Sam in the locker room before him and I went public as a couple, and how Azimio, Karofsky and the guys on the hockey team never picked on him as they did on Artie, Finn, Kurt and the other guys, I came to the conclusion that he had probably always played in a league above the other Glee Club boys. And out of everyone in Glee Club I think he was the one with the lowest rate of slushie facials.

"Well, he was kind of popular, I guess. People liked him. But he was in Glee Club so I guess some of the jocks thought he was a bit weird or something." Deliberately I left out the part where everyone had thought that there was something going on between Kurt and him.

"Evans was in Glee Club? Like _Glee Club_ as in show choir?" Landon stared at me with an almost shocked expression. I smiled and nodded. "That was certainly not what I had expected. So you're saying he can sing and dance too?"

"Yeah, he's actually really talented. I remember at Sectionals when we performed (_I've Had) the Time of_—What? Why do you look at me like that?" I stopped myself to ask, as I caught my friend staring at me with raised eyebrows and mouth agape.

"You sang with _him_? _You_ were in Glee Club?" He let out a loud whistle. "Wow. You know, you never cease to amaze me, Quinn. I've known you for like, was it is now, three years, and I had no idea you were in Glee Club."

I snickered and tilted my head to the side.

Suddenly the sound of my phone vibrating on the smooth counter top caught our attention. Without hesitation I picked it up and opened the new text message I had received.

_You know I'm not mad whit you? And I'm sorry for what I said to you in the car. I crossed the line there. I'm sorry! – Sam_

At first I was a little confused. He had been quite polite when he had declined Landon's offer. Then I realized he wasn't referring to today. A small smile spread across my face. It felt good to know that Sam wasn't angry with me for what happened at the gym or in the car after the hospital. My smile only widened as I noticed that his dyslexia had made him misspell 'with' again. He always had a particularly difficult time with that word in high school and I remember how he always asked me to help proofread his essays before he handed them in.

Just as I was about to pocket my iPhone the device vibrated again.

_You know I would never take advantage of you, right? You just looked so at pease, I coudn't wake you up. Sorry. – Sam_

* * *

Author's note,

This is probably _not_ one of my better chapters, I have to admit that. Actually, I had quite some problem piecing the different parts together, but in the end I think it turned out kind of okay. At least it showed how Finn and Quinn worked things out between them and Sam left a few messages for Quinn letting her know that things at his party may not have happened the way she think they did.

For those of you who are interested in finding out exactly what happened at Sam's party that will be revealed in the next chapter. Some familiar faces will appear as well, so if you—just like me—love Puck and his badassness, for example, I think you're gonna like the next chapter.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! :)

**Guest:** Thank you so much! I'm really glad to hear you like it! I will definitely not give up on this story, I can promise you that. Personally, I hate it when people publish stories and don't finish them, because you can't just leave the story with a huge cliffhanger and then never let the readers know what's going to happen ;)

**SamEvans17:** Thank you so much! It means a lot to me that there are people like you out there who keeps coming back to my stories week after week and leaving kind and encouraging reviews. It makes writing new chapters for this fanfic so much funnier and easier! :)

**RJRRAA:** Thank you! I'll try to get the next chapter done sometime at the beginning of next week. I'm almost finished with it; it just needs some proofreading and some small adjustments here and there.

**gleekreader:** Hello there! It's nice to see some new faces (in this case pennames) here. I'm glad that you find the chapter entertaining and hopefully you'll like this one as well even though it may not be the best chapter I've written.


	10. Chapter 10

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 10 _

"You're late."

Noah Puckerman was leaning against the net fence, arms crossed over a grey sleeveless shirt, when we climbed out of the car. Underneath the aviator sunglasses that concealed his eyes a scowl could be detected. The clenched jaw and the slight pout was a dead 'angry Puck' giveaway. However, there was a slight tug at the corner of his lip, only visible for a split second. If you blinked you would have missed it. It got me thinking that maybe Puck wasn't half as sour as he pretended to be.

"We're so sorry, Noah." Only Rachel Berry could get away with calling him Noah in public. Okay, maybe his mother would be allowed to use his birth name too, but she's family so that doesn't really count. "But Finn—"

"It's cool, Finnessa. I totally get it. You suddenly realized it's that time of the month and you needed to drop by the supermarket and buy a package of extra-large tampons, just in case the flooding would start today," Puck said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

Snorting loudly Finn snatched the keys from the ignition and trudged over to the back of the car. "You're not funny," he muttered under his breath while he popped the trunk open.

By the fence Puck huffed and his right eyebrow rose above the shaded glasses. "You're such a girl sometimes, dude."

Finn shook his head. "Yeah right! At least I wasn't the one trotting into the choir room dressed as a chick. You looked like a transvestite, man. Like that dude from _Rocky Horror _except you had on an ugly grandma dress instead of a leather vest and suspenders."

I scoffed. That was _my_ dress.

"That's called taking one for the team," Puck declared as he pushed away from the fence and walked towards the car. "Besides, I made a damn hot woman."

"Said who?" Finn said and grabbed the basketball from the trunk. It was obvious he had to put a lot of effort into hiding his growing smirk.

"That's not important," said the man with the Mohawk and took the ball from Finn. He spun it on his finger for a couple of seconds before he placed it under his arm. "Anyways, where are the others? Afraid imma kick their asses." It wasn't a question, but more of a statement.

Finn gave a short laugh. "Keep dreaming, dude. You're the one who's gonna get his ass kicked." He put his large hands on the trunk and shut it with a loud bang. "Blaine's showing up soon. He had some stuff be had to take care of first. Kurt's coming too, but we both know he's not gonna want to play. Mike should be here by now. I have no idea where Evans is," Finn announced.

"Sam's picking up Mike at the hotel," I said and everyone turned to look at me.

Three days earlier Sam and I had finally talked about that night at his place. And let's just say that things hadn't really happened the way I thought they had.

He had called me in the afternoon when he got off work and asked me if we could meet somewhere. After contemplating it for a split second I had told him to meet me at the coffee shop around the corner from my apartment building. He had showed up exactly on time – I've long suspected that there is a little perfectionist in Sam, he is almost always on time, he never cheats in games and he always follows instruction manuals to the letter even though it takes him longer to read the manual that what it takes him to actually assemble whatever it is that he needs to assemble.

"Hey," he had said and offered me a lopsided grin. I had returned the gesture. "Look, uh, you've probably already figured it out, but I wanted to meet you so that we could talk about, you know, everything that's happened."

I nodded slowly and slid onto the seat opposite him. "I think that is a good idea."

"Yeah, uh, I bought you a coffee. I remember you always ordered Hazelnut Frappuccino back in high school." He flashed a nervous smile.

I glanced at the coffee drink in front of me. "That's sweet of you, Sam. Thank you."

"It's, I guess, the least I can do . . . From the start then?"

I nodded.

"Ok-ay. So when Finn and Rachel left you insisted on staying because Puck, Jeremy and Dean had started playing Just Dance, or whatever the game is called," the blonde said while picking at a bread crumb on the table, "and you said you didn't want to miss out on an opportunity to watch Puck make a fool of himself in front all the 'hot people' he didn't know."

"I said that?" I asked in disbelief.

And who the hell are Jeremy and Dean?

Sam nodded and I buried my head in my hands "God, how embarrassing!"

He smirked, the skin around his eyes crinkled, before biting down on his bottom lip. "Well . . ."

"What?"

"I don't think you need to know . . ." Sam mused aloud.

"Know what?"

"That wasn't really the worst thing you did." He raised his large hand to rub at his neck. "You kind of danced on the table with one of my co-workers. He really enjoyed it though. He's been asking for your number like six times or something."

I dropped my head into my hands again and sighed. "God, just shoot me!"

Sam chuckled.

My head shot up and I slapped his forearm. "Shut up! It's not funny!" Then in the same breath, "What more stupid things did I do?"

His smirk faded away and he shrugged. "Nothing." He crushed the little bread crumb under his index finger nail. "You passed out on the couch. And you looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you up."

We both stared down at the table for a short moment; me at the light brown liquid in my coffee cup, he at the pile of crushed bread crumbs he had created.

"You carried me to your bed?" My voice was so low I wasn't even sure he'd heard me.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Then I slept on the couch."

I felt so stupid! All this time I'd walked around feeling embarrassed when in reality nothing had happened. I was relieved, but at the same time I felt some kind of void fill me. Disappointment? No it couldn't be, could it?

"I figured you would freak out if you woke up with a hangover and found me sleeping next to you," he attempted to joke, a faint smile revealing perfect white teeth, before his features grew serious again. "Being you you'd probably assume the worst, which you kind of did anyway. And everybody else, for that matter."

Slowly I nodded. "If nothing happened, why didn't you just say that? All this time I've thought . . ."

"It, uhm," Sam rubbed his neck sheepishly, a tint of pink rising on his cheeks, "gave you a reason to talk to me again. I mean, we kinda lost touch after high school." He licked his lips. "I had planned on telling you when you woke up, but when I got home after a short walk around the block you were gone."

Sam's excuse was pretty lame, but I couldn't help but find it a little cute. And maybe in a few years we'd both be able to laugh at it.

I was awakened from my thoughts by the feeling Finn, Puck, Rachel and everybody's eyes on me. And immediately I felt my ears heating up and I absentmindedly reached up to tug at my necklace. "He texted me. In case he'd be late. He wanted to let us know." ¨

Rachel just gave me that knowing smirk while her fiancé mumbled something about being hungry and hoping that Sam would buy something to eat on his way over. I was considering asking if I should text the blonde and tell him to drop by a kiosk or a Seven Eleven or something and buy Finn a protein bar or a sandwich, but I decided against it the moment Puck bumped his shoulder into mine, almost knocking me over, and winked at me.

"Idiot," I muttered under my breath as I steadied myself. The Jewish man just huffed in an attempt to sound offended, but he failed big time when he couldn't keep his lips from parting into a toothy smile.

It would be a lie if I said that I _didn't_ like Noah Puckerman. For a lot of reasons I despised the young man. He messed up my life and, for a while, I kind of held him responsible for breaking up my family. The thing with my father and the 'tattooed freak' would have happened anyway, I cannot blame Puck for that one, and mother would have found out about it even if Puck never happened, but he is very much responsible for the fact that my father kicked me out of the house. Had Puck not knocked me up my dad would never have thrown me out like that.

However, it's not fair to say that I _don't like_ Puck. I guess it would be even more of a lie than to say that I _like_ him. Because for everything there is to dislike about Puck or his actions there are things to love about him. Frankly, the lovable aspects are a lot more than the non-lovable ones too.

But I couldn't decide whether I loved or hated the fact that he always seemed to understand me, even at times when I couldn't even figure out what was up with me.

"If anyone, you should know the danger of texting while driving," Puck said, cheek in tongue, as he caught me fidgeting with my cell phone. "Is he coming soon or what?"

Caught a little off guard, I opened my mouth a few times without any actual sound coming out. Then I took one controlled breath, straightened my back and smiled at the Jewish man, but before I could utter my witty comeback a black Lotus Evora swung into the parking lot.

"Sorry we're late," the blonde said as he pushed the gate open so that Mike and he could pass through it, "but traffic was kinda crazy downtown. Some carnival or parade or something," he said with a shrug before he fist bumped Puck and gave Rachel a light peck on the cheek. "Anyways, I bought you a sandwich and a Snickers bar, Finn." Sam tossed the items to the tall brown haired man, who caught them easily. "I thought we could all grab a burger or something later, but we know 'you're not you when you're hungry', you get kinda grumpy, Finn, so yeah." He kissed me on the temple casually before he sat down on the bench beside me and pulled the zipper open on his duffel bag.

While the blonde was busy putting on athletic shoes Mike took the opportunity to hug each and every one of us and exchange pleasantries. Quite some time had passed since we last saw the Asian. On further consideration I think the last time I met him was when I graduated from Yale, which was now almost four months ago. It's crazy how fast time flies by!

"You need help with those?" Puck teased with a pointed look towards Sam's still untied left shoe. I was not a secret that the blonde had not known how to tie his shoes before he transferred to McKinley and Mr. Schuester taught him. Sam just laughed and shook his head. Then he tied the shoe and stood up.

"All done," he said and picked up the basketball that Puck had placed on the picnic table. He let it roll along his arm and then bounced off his bicep before he caught it in his hand. "You guys ready to play?" he asked while spinning the ball on one finger.

"Yeah, whenever you're done showing off," Finn mocked and reached for the zipper on his navy blue hoodie. He tossed the piece of clothing on the bench on which Rachel had sat down on and walked over to Sam and took the ball from him. "You and Puck against Mike and I."

"Alright!" Puck and Sam said in unison. Then the man with the Mohawk turned towards Rachel and me. "You girls wanna play?" Rachel shook her head and laughed while I couldn't quite decide whether I wanted to play with them or not. Maybe I could join when Blaine and Kurt arrived.

"I thought you were going to play football?" I asked instead. If I remembered correctly that was the plans they made at my graduation party.

The only other woman nodded slowly. "They were until Finn—"

"I thought it would be more fun to play something everyone's kind of equally good—or crappy—at," her fiancé interrupted with a shrug of his shoulders.

"In other words Finnessa was afraid Sam would kick his ass," Puck laughed and took a step backwards.

"I was not," Finn muttered and everyone else laughed at his childish scowl.

Not more than five minutes later the game was at full swing and Finn and Mike was up four points, which got Puck whining about how it was unfair that he and Sam were shorter. He changed his mind though as soon as Sam and he scored six points within a minute. Now he was teasing Finn and Mike about it.

When the game had been on for about fifteen minutes or so Blaine's car rolled into the parking lot.

"What's the score?" the curly haired man asked as soon as he reached Rachel and me. He was dressed in athletic shoes, black shorts and a striped tee. A pair of hot pink sunglasses shaded his brown eyes. Kurt on the other hand was—dressed in black pants, white shirt, dark vest and a scarf—not really dressed to play basketball.

After short consideration Rachel reached the conclusion that Finn and Mike was probably in the lead again. Blaine nodded. "I'm joining Sam and Mike then. Are you not going to play?" he asked Rachel, Kurt and me.

"Come on, don't be so damn boring!" Puck called while trying to block Finn from passing the ball to Mike. "Fabray, you're on Finnessa's team, Berry's on my team. Lady Hummel, you're joining your bro 'cause I can't stand your whining."

And just like that we were dragged onto the basketball court.

I've never been a very diligent basketball player. My parents always considered it an activity for boys, like ice hockey, wrestling, boxing and football. Though I think they would have preferred if I came home and said I wanted to play basketball rather than me wanting to play hockey.

Despite the lack of experience of playing basketball I soon found myself quite engrossed. It was so different from cheerleading in so many ways. Sure, they're both team sports, but they're still so unlike. This game was so fast and so, in lack of other words, uncontrolled. In cheerleading you practice different routines for weeks before you perform them at football games or cheerleading competitions. But in basketball you had to make decision during the game based on how your opponents were playing.

Furthermore, basketball is much more physical than cheerleading. Duh, you don't have to come face to face with your opponents the same way in cheerleading. Nevertheless, I found this game rather entertaining.

"Hey! You're cheating!" I cried when Sam grabbed my waist and pulled me backwards towards him just as I was going to pass the ball to Mike. The basketball ended up not reaching the Asian and instead Puck grabbed it, threw it to Blaine who then scored two points for his team.

I swiftly spun around and slapped the blonde on the arm, because I hate to lose. It got a little harder than I had intended and for a split second Sam stared at me in surprise as if he couldn't decide whether I was genuinely pissed at him or just joking.

A smack to the back of his head brought him out of his stupor. He spun around quickly and glared at Puck who stood a short distance away with a guilty expression on his face. "Dude, you gotta pay attention. Head in the game," Puck teased when he caught eye of Sam's scowl.

Finn bent down and picked up the ball that had rolled towards him after making an impact with the back of Sam's head. He called out for Blaine before tossing the ball to the dark haired man and the game was on again.

After the incident with the headshot Sam, along with the other guys as well, stuck more or less to the rulebook. Only occasionally did they resort to foul tricks such as blocking us girls from making ourselves playable by wrapping their arms around us and holding us still, but they usually received a light smack to the back of the head or a stamp on the toes for it.

My team ended up winning and I'd like to say that it was because of me and my previously undiscovered talent, but I'd be lying if I said that. I was quite lousy, terrible, to be honest, so the credit for our sweet victory have to go to Finn and Mike.

Thanks to them Puck, Sam, Rachel and Blaine owed us dinner. I am pretty sure Puck regretted the fact that he was the one to insist that the 'mega-losers', as he so nicely put it, buy the 'supermegafoxyawesomehot' winners food.

Mike patted the man with the Mohawk on the back and gave him a teasing grin while Finn sat down on the bench and stretched out his abnormally long legs in front of him.

"So what do you guys say we go get something to eat? I'm starving!" Finn said mockingly and rubbed his T-shirt clad stomach. "Mega-losers pay, remember, Puck?"

The Jew snorted. "Dude, you pregnant, or what?" he mumbled and Sam leaned forward and pulled gently at Finn's open shirt in an attempt to get a better look at his T-shirt clad belly.

"What the hell!" Finn blurted and slapped the blonde's hand away before sending him a grim glare. "I'm a dude for crying out loud."

"Yeah, and I'm Ricky Martin," Puck scoffed and put on his aviators.

* * *

"Dude, are you really gonna eat all that?"

Finn glared across the table at Puck who in turn stared at the immense amount of food at the tall brunette's tray. His mouth was hanging slightly open as he took in the miniature Mount Everest of hamburgers and boxes of French fries that occupied the tray.

"I thought it was the chick that got weird cravings and constant need of food," he continued with a look on his face that I could best describe as disgust.

Beside me Sam turned in his seat to gaze at Rachel with a surprised expression. "Are you—"

"No," the short brunette interrupted him before she gave Puck a warning glare. Then she turned back to the blonde man again and offered him a kind smile. "No, Sam, I am not pregnant," she said whilst opening one of those little bags of salt you get and poured the white crystals over her fries. An almost disappointed 'Oh' escaped the blonde's lips and he grabbed the still untouched burger in front of him and slowly unwrapped it.

The whole thing was intriguing; the way Rachel so quickly dismissed the assertion, Finn's reluctance to meet anyone's stare and Sam's seemingly downhearted response to her answer.

The short brunette appeared to notice Sam and Finn's strange reactions though as she casually grabbed her fiancé's hand and brushed her thumb over his knuckles while she began to talk again. "It is not that I don't want children. I love kids and I would love to be a mother one day." She smiled warmly and glanced at Finn. The tall brown haired man squeezed her small hand gently and smiled back at her. Had it been high school I would have found the scene disturbing, but now almost five_ long_ years later it moved something inside of me. "It is just that I don't see myself with children in the nearest future. Maybe in a few years. I am still young. _We_ are young. There is plenty of time."

Several of the people around the table nodded slowly. They were probably agreeing with her. We were only in our early twenties; there was no reason to rush things, right? We have our whole lives ahead of us.

"But, to change the subject into something less serious," Kurt suddenly said, the ivory skinned brunette had been unusually quiet so far, "I would like to announce to you that our very own Whitney Huston just signed her very first contract with a major record company." He was basically beaming as he said that, fighting hard to keep his voice from going up into falsetto.

I know I should probably be overwhelming Kurt with questions about Mercedes' new record deal, but I just could bring myself to do it. Don't get me wrong, I am not a jealous bitch, at least not anymore, I really was happy for her. Probably a lot more so than what most people may think. Mercedes means a lot to me, her family took me in when my own father kicked me out and I am immensely grateful for that. It was an act of pure kindness and if there was any possible way I could reciprocate Mercedes and her family I would not hesitate, but there will never be anything I can do that can compare with what they did for me.

Despite this true joy I felt deep inside for hearing the news I couldn't ignore the tiny pain in my soul.

All around me my friends were succeeding in their career choices; Mercedes got her record deal, Santana recently landed her first leading role, Brittany perused her dream of opening a dance studio and the same went for Mike. While here in New York Rachel finally made it onto the Broadway stage, Kurt became a famous fashion designer, Blaine became a model and Sam _almost_ made it to the NFL. Meanwhile I was still struggling to pay the rent and to find a decent job. I still hadn't repaired my relationship with my mother and my sister that I had promised myself to do this past New Year's Eve. I guess it would be just another one of those New Year's resolutions I never managed to keep.

Maybe it is unfair of me to not mention Finn, Puck and Tina. Just like me they haven't really accomplished anything since they left Lima. Sure, Tina has traveled a bit and is studying to become a lawyer, and Puck did try to get a foot into the acting and screenwriting business, but he was obviously not very successful since he's here now. He inherited a lot of money though so I guess his life since he left McKinley High hasn't been equally as fruitless as mine has been.

By the time I was brought out of my thoughts—by Rachel who was waving her petite hand wildly in front of my face—the conversation had changed into one about dancing, I think. At least Puck said something about Finn having two left feet—I couldn't agree more—and Blaine commented on how Sam and him had gotten into a physical dispute about whether or not they should use the blonde's signature dance move, the Windy City, for Sectionals.

"Earth to Quinn Fabray," Rachel looked at me with a hint of worry in her brown eyes. I blinked away the confusion and gave her a crooked smile.

"You kinda zoned out a while there. Are you okay?" Sam tilted his head to get a better look at me.

I nodded and painted on a reassuring smile. Whether they bought it or not I don't know, it wasn't like I was lying anyway. I was okay, just feeling a little blue, that's all.

Opposite me Rachel nodded slowly as if she was waiting for me to say something, but when I showed no signs of opening my mouth she began to speak. "Anyway, I was just about to tell the boys about your job interview tomorrow. I hope that's okay with you, Quinn. We are all super excited about it and Kurt even volunteered to help you chose the right attire for the meeting."

Kurt gave me a wink. "I have already picked out the perfect outfit for you, darling."

I couldn't help but laugh when Kurt said that and gave me that wink. Coming from super sweet and innocent Kurt the comment sounded so adorable and funny, and I couldn't help but imagine the different reaction it would have gotten from me if Puck, or any other straight hormone-fueled guy for that matter, had uttered it.

"I would appreciate that, Kurt," I said when the slender young man gave me a curious look.

"So what about we make a toast for Lady Fabray," Puck joked and grabbed his white paper cup. The melting ice cubes rattled as they danced about in what little Coke there was left in the cup.

"We are in a fast-food restaurant, Noah. You do not make toast here, besides there are nothing to toast with," Rachel pointed out in a low voice with a reddening face as the former Lima bad boy raised his almost empty paper cup.

"Oh, come on, Barbra Streisand. Don't be such a party pooper. No one here will even recognize you. Do you seriously think those dudes over there look like big Broadway enthusiasts? They're middle-aged truck drivers. Besides, if there's anyone people will be looking at it's me and my awesome body."

Rachel glanced over her shoulder at the group of husky men dressed in old denims and checkered shirts before her gaze wandered to the young family by the counter. Maybe they weren't the kind of people that belonged to the Broadway sets most frequent visitors.

Beside Rachel Kurt snickered and gave Puck an arched eyebrow. "Excuse me, squirrel head, but I think you got that wrong."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, ladyboy, maybe my baby mama's boyfriend is _almost_ equally as hot as me. Whatever," he said nonchalantly while still holding his cup in the air.

Reluctantly I froze with my eyes big on the man with the Mohawk and by the sudden, abate rather discrete, intake of breath from the blonde seated next to me I figured that the seemingly innocent comment didn't go unnoticed by Sam either. The fingers he had been twinning locks of my long blonde hair around had seized moving as well. How long had he been doing that by the way?

I had noticed when he laid his arm on the backrest on the seat in which Finn, he and I were seated, but I hadn't noticed how his fingers had somehow caught a lock of my hair and started playing with it.

Feeling the need to reject the claim I opened my mouth, but Puck began to speak again before I could even figure out what to say. "Alright, for those who dare to make a toast with me," he said too loudly for my liking. Then he turned to look at me, a smile tugging at his full lips. "Kick some serious ass tomorrow, Fabray." Then they all took a sip of their sodas.

* * *

The 'dinner' at the hamburger joint around the corner from the basketball court lasted longer than I think anyone of us had anticipated, but it was nice to just spontaneously get together and hang out. I think I had almost forgotten how easy it was to spend time with the old Glee Club – well, most of the club. The other sixty-six percent of the Unholy Trinity, as well as Tina, Artie and Mercedes weren't there.

Sometime around half past midnight I had announced that I was going home. Rachel was bummed, of course, she had hoped I would be up for a few drinks down at her favorite bar and Finn and Puck had been pouting as well when I insisted on calling it a night. But I had an important meeting tomorrow with the CEO of a major agency and I wanted to make a good first impression – of course I wanted to do that, who the heck goes to a meeting with the intention of screwing up.

If they hire me maybe by the end of the year I'll be Rachel's agent. Wouldn't that be awesome? Maybe not, Ms. Berry was probably the most demanding person I had ever met . . .

"I don't want to look like a living dead," I had said before I neatly folded the paper napkin that I had laid out on my knee, an old habit my mother had fought years to print into the back of my head. Suppose my family were at least successful in teaching me something . . .

Sam ended up driving me home; apparently he had to work tomorrow too.

We spent most of the fifteen minute drive listening to some old school rock station that he had selected. Obviously it wasn't just some random station to him. He had struggled to find it for almost two minutes before he had pulled the Lotus out of the parking lot by the basketball court and I couldn't help but find it adorable that he found music so important that everything else had to wait.

'Why didn't he grow up to become a musician?' I asked myself as I observed him drum a complex rhythm against the steering wheel. He had the voice, the beat, the talent and the heart. Not to mention the looks.

I ended up asking him and he threw me a quick glance before he mumbled a half-confused 'what?'.

"Why didn't you become a musician?" I queered again, this time emphasizing the words carefully as if I was talking to a five year old. I did by no means think Sam was stupid, on the contrary, I believed that he was one of the smartest people I know.

He let out a short chuckle, but remained silent.

"I don't mean that it is too late now, you know. It just intrigues me, the path you chose, or rather, did not choose," I added quickly, suddenly feeling a bit unsure. I hadn't offended him, had I?

"You wanna know the truth?" he queered in a low voice and I nodded quickly. "The truth is I didn't think I had what it takes, you know," he said with a shrug.

"Are you kidding me, Sam Evans?" I replied in a surprised voice. "Have you completely forgotten about the Justin Bieber Experience? People went crazy for you then, not just the girls. Finn and Puck would probably strangle me in my sleep if they find out I told you, but I know they thought you were really good." When the blonde didn't say anything I continued. "If it's still your dream I don't think you should give up on it. Good people deserve a second shot at happiness and you're a good man, Sam."

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, but kept his eyes on the road. Blonde bangs had fallen across his forehead and shielded his eyes from me, making me unable to properly read his face.

"We're here," he said, breaking the minute-long silence that had fallen over us. I glanced out the window and found that we had indeed reached the apartment building I lived in. "I've thought about what you said. About second chances," he said in a low voice barely louder than a whisper and I turned my head back to him only to realize that the distance between us had decreased considerably.

He was smiling warmly but his eyes weren't crinkled like they usually are when he smiles, they were pensive as if he was fighting an inner battle. Slowly he turned a little in his seat so that he was basically fully facing me. "Quinn," he murmured while his ocean colored eyes momentarily flickered down to my lips.

My pulse was racing by then, the thoughts running wild in my head. I was thinking about everything Santana had said about me needing to find someone, I was thinking about how I had stated that I was content with being alone, I was thinking about Sam and I in junior year, about the peck on the cheek earlier today and about my own words from just a few minutes ago.

It was all so confusing yet so crystal clear.

I mumbled something I suppose was an attempted response to him pronouncing my name a few seconds ago as I felt myself slowly gravitate towards him as if there was a force pulling me in. His hand dropped to the seat next to my thigh as he lent across the console, his mesmerizing eyes never once leaving my face. The intention from his gaze alone was making me feel slightly lightheaded and by the time his face was only inches from mine I thought I was ready to collapse. His warm breath against my face, the light smell of his aftershave and the sound of his even breathing was making my body react in way it hadn't done in years.

I was waiting for his soft full lips to grace mine, waiting for the kiss I suppose I had been unconsciously longing for ever since I met him again in late May. His lips never caressed mine, though. Instead I opened my eyes to find him moving away from me, his head turned so that I could not get a very good look of his face.

"It's late," he mumbled in a muddled voice and began to fidget with the clasp on his wristband watch. "You, uh, you'll need the sleep if you wanna be on top tomorrow." He continued to stare into his lap.

I nodded slowly, a large lump beginning to build up in my throat. I couldn't help but to feel bad, maybe even disappointed? He was going to kiss me, I knew he was, but then he had changed his mind at the last moment and pulled back.

I felt rejected.

As everyone close to me probably have figured out by now I don't usually display emotions. For the most part I bottle it up until it becomes too much to handle and then I break down, usually alone behind locked door where no one can see nor hear me. Therefore I took a deep calming breath before I unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed the door open. Halfway out of the car I turned back and mumbled a partially forced 'thanks for the ride'. Sam nodded slowly, still keeping his face out of view.

I closed the door behind me and watched him pull the black sports car off the curb. "I'll see you, Sam," I whispered as he drove off into night before I reached up and wiped at my cheek. My hand came away wet.

* * *

Author's note,

Wow, what a response, you guys! I checked my email Tuesday morning the day after I published Chapter 9 and there was like eleven notifications from FanFiction, or something like that. And I who thought Chapter 9 wasn't particularly good…guess I was a bit wrong. Thank you guys! :)

In this chapter you finally learn what happened after Sam's party and I would love to hear your thoughts on it. And what did you think of Sam's excuse for not telling Quinn the truth immediately? Please post a little comment and share your thoughts on this chapter (or this story as a whole, you choose) :)

**FabrevansFTW:** I agree with you. The chances that we're gonna see Sam and Quinn together again are very slim, but they could have at least given us some kind of closure. But I guess that's what the whole 'rich white girl problem'-speech in 'Hold on to Sixteen' was all about.

It would be totally awesome—and quite realistic too, I think—if Sam realized after he's broken up with Brittany—which I'm 99% sure will happen in the season finale—that the only reason he dated her was because she reminded him so much about Quinn. I doubt that will happen though. But one is allowed to dream, right? :)

Thanks for reviewing! :)

**SamEvans17:** Thank you so much! :) I hope you liked this chapter as well; I had a lot of fun writing it.

**ceruleanblues:** Thank you! It makes me so happy to hear that! :) If you disregard the clumsy comments that every once in a while escapes Finn's mouth (who can forget his "Hey, Santana! Why don't you just come out of the closet?") he appears to be a really nice guy. And for some reason I kind of think of Finn as an older brother figure for Quinn, which is kind of strange considering the fact that they've been dating...

I'm glad you liked the Sam-Quinn-Landon part. I don't know if it showed but Sam and Landon are both alpha males and natural leaders so it's quite natural that they would try to prove themselves better than the other.

**RJRRAA:** Thank you! I'm glad you like Sam that much; I'm really trying to make the characters in my story act and speak like the ones on the show. And who wouldn't want to hug the 'real' Sam ;)

**FabrevansXOXOBrittana:** Thank you so much! :)


	11. Chapter 11

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 11_

People don't expect to get attacked in their own homes, they just don't . . . Your home is a free zone were you're supposed to always feel comfortable and safe. At least that's what I've always thought.

I had that idea smashed into pieces earlier tonight though . . .

In an attempt to be left alone—Rachel was peppering me with question about what had happened and I just couldn't bring myself to answer any of them at the point—I fled into my bathroom and turned on the water to fill the bathtub. Warm baths usually helps me calm down, and I was hoping that the honey and jasmine smelling bubble bath would have the same effect on me today.

I had just lowered myself into the water when someone knocked on the door. "Quinn, we need to talk about this," Rachel's worried voice called from the other side of the wooden door.

I shook my head intensively. I didn't want to talk about it.

I could hear the short brunette sigh loudly "Fine! You don't have to talk to _me_. But you need to talk to _someone_," she muttered and I silently hoped she wouldn't send Finn to try to squeeze any information out of me. The tall ex-football player had already tried to carry a dialog with me about what happened, but I had told him to shut up and then I had stormed off to my bathroom.

The door creaked quietly as Rachel probably leaned her back against it. She had been silent for a while—which was unlike her—and my curiosity was beginning to get the best of me. I wanted to know what she was up to. Luckily, I didn't have to wait too long before I heard the short brunette open her mouth again. It quickly became clear to me that she wasn't talking to me though. "Hey! I'm sorry I'm calling so late. Yeah, I know you're working tomorrow . . ." The door creaked again as the short woman pushed away from it and begun to walk down the hallway, probably towards my living room or kitchen. "But I need your help . . ."

I couldn't make out anything more of Rachel's telephone conversation as she probably walked into the living room where Finn was trying to clean up the mess the in there, the crushed coffee table and the shattered glass.

Slowly I let my body sink further into the hot water. My senses filled with the honey and jasmine scented soap while the silhouettes on the wall, caused by the dozens of lit candles scattered in the room, helped calm my racing mind. I was still shaking slightly; the effects of the adrenaline ebbing away slowly. I lay there in silence for what felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than ten minutes at top.

Rachel's sweet voice from outside my bathroom door startled me a little as I was beginning to doze off, the emotional exhaustion making me sleepy. I realized I had unconsciously grabbed the edges of the bathtub when her voice had started me and I gently let my hands slide down the sides of the tub until they were resting against the outside of my thighs, under the water.

"Finn and I are heading home," Rachel's voice informed. "You know you can call us at any time, right?" She must have taken my silence as a 'yes' because she soon continued to talk. "I'll come by and check on you tomorrow, okay. Make sure you get some sleep, Quinn. I love you," she said quietly.

The sound of diminishing footsteps told me she had left and I let my eyes drift close again.

It felt good to finally be alone, but at the same time it was frightening. What if he came back? Finn kicked his ass pretty thoroughly, but what if he in his drunken state didn't get the point and decided to return. A feeling of unease was starting to spread through my body.

My blood froze as the sound of footsteps outside of my bathroom door reached my ears. I had heard Finn and Rachel leave, heard the front door close behind them, so it couldn't be any one of them. Then who the heck was lurking around outside my bathroom?

A gentle knock on the door brought me out of my unpleasant thoughts and I opened my eyes and lifted my head from the edge of the tub just in time to see a blonde head peek in through the partially open door. "May I come in?" Sam Evans asked in a calm and sweet voice as he begun to slowly push the door further open.

I sighed quietly and gently let my head fall back against the edge of the bathtub again, letting out a deep sigh in relief.

I didn't feel like talking to anyone about what happened, especially not right now. But as usual something about this blonde man made it impossible for me to reject him. I don't know if it is his kind, ocean colored eyes, his deep, calm voice or the fact that he always seems to know the right thing to say, that made it impossible to turn him down.

He seemed to hesitate for a short moment, his lower lip drawn in between his teeth were he chewed it lightly, before he made up his mind and stepped into the bathroom. It contradicted the image of Sam Evans I had spent five years painting—the humble well-mannered Southern gentleman image—when he moved into the room without having gotten a proper answer from me. I suppose he thought that no answer meant that I didn't object. Perhaps he knows me too well?

I let my eyes drift close again, mostly because I didn't want Sam to see that I was on the verge of tears, and let my body sink further into the warm bubble bath. The smell of honey and jasmine filled my senses and calmed my nerves. I made a mental note to thank Tina for telling me about this lovely soap.

An almost inaudible creak reached my ears as Sam slowly pushed the door close behind him. Quietly his shoeless feet shuffled towards me on the heated tile floor. When he reached the bathtub he placed his left hand on the edge as he crouched beside me. "Quinn," he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. My heart ached from the amount of emotion that simple word, my name, contained, and the emotional nakedness must have surprised him too because he seemed to have problems remembering what he had planned to say next.

A few painfully long seconds of silence passed where Sam just sat there, watching me, and I just continued to keep my eyes closed. I could feel his stare burning on me, but I was too afraid that if I opened my eyes, even to small slits, warm tears would swell up and pour over the edges. "Quinn," he whispered again, this time in a more controlled voice, "please look at me."

While grounding my jaw firmly to keep myself from breaking down right then and there I shook my head slowly. I couldn't let him see me cry. I was supposed to have grown stronger during these four years after I left McKinley High.

"Don't shut me out, Q," he pleaded and I could hear him shift on the floor beside the bathtub. Soon I felt his hand grab mine under the water, his long fingers easily curling around my much smaller hand while his thumb moved to gently trace circles on the back of my hand. "You can't just pretend nothing happened. He could have killed you. People don't just walk away untouched from things like that. You need to talk to someone." He paused to take a deep breath and I didn't have to think twice to figure out that he was the person Rachel had been on the phone with.

"You refuse to talk to Rachel and you won't talk to Tina. Finn says you don't even want to see him. But you have to talk to someone! You'll go crazy if you keep it all bottled up inside you. Look what happened when you refused to talk about the Beth-thing with someone – you started smoking and joined the Skanks!" Sam continued his worried rant.

That was when I had had enough. I could take him whining about me not wanting to talk to people about what happened earlier today, but when he brought up Beth that was when I had had enough. I opened my eyes and withdrew my hand from his so suddenly that it made him jump and pull back from me. Had I not been so angry and frustrated I would probably have laughed at the look on his face. "Don't you dare talk about her!" I hissed in a voice dripping of venom. "Don't you_ ever_ talk about her like that!"

He backed away from me with his hands put up, palm out, in front of him in an apologetic gesture. His eyebrows were knitted together in a concerned frown and his bottom lip quivered slightly as if he was trying to come up with something to say. In lack of better words to describe his expression I would say that he resembled a four year old child who had just been scolded by his parents. "I'm, I'm sorry," he stuttered in a low voice. "I didn't . . . it wasn't . . . I'm sorry."

A few moments of silence passed before one of us spoke again, and it wasn't me. "I should," he mumbled and slowly jerked his thumb over his shoulder, nodded a few times. He continued to back away from me until his back was almost pressed against the white painted door. His right hand found its way down to the brass handle where it hovered for a short moment, as if he was contemplating whether he actually should leave or not.

Before he pushed the handle down completely I turn my head back towards him. "Wait," I mumbled, my voice barely louder than a whisper. The single word had the same effect on him as if I'd pulled the hammer back on a gun and pointed it at his head: he froze completely in mid-movement.

Swallowing loudly a couple of times I finally found my voice. "I, uh . . . I'm sorry," I mumbled while I let my eyes travel down to the floor, where they found the pile of my clothes. "I shouldn't have yelled at you," the last words practically stumbled out of my mouth and I felt the large lump in my throat growing bigger and bigger with every passing second.

For a short moment I almost thought Sam had left. The silence that filled the room after I had blurted out my apology was effusively heavy, but I was too scared to lift my gaze to see if he was still there. My question was soon answered though as the sound of Sam's white socks shuffling nervously against the tile floor reached my ears.

He took a deep breath before his voice filled the room. "You don't need to apologize," he said. "You're right; I shouldn't have said those things . . ." He sucked his lip in between his teeth and held it there for a few seconds. "I'm really sorry."

I nodded slowly before I let my body sink further into the warm water. When his eyes wouldn't leave me I turned my head away from him, so that I was staring straight into the white tile. "Listen," I heard him say, "I know you don't want to look at me, but can you please talk to me."

"I don't want to talk," I said and sighed loudly.

"Everybody needs someone to talk to sometimes. Remember how you practically forced me to talk to you when my family lost our house? I hated you for doing that, but I have to admit that I probably wouldn't have gotten through all of that shit if it hadn't been for Kurt and you. There is just so much a person can do on its own, before it becomes too much, you know. You're no exception, Quinn," he told me in a calm voice, his back still resting against the door but his hands had found their way into his jeans pockets.

I knew that he was right. He always is. Most people may call Sam stupid or slow, maybe even dumb, but to me he is the smartest person I have ever met. Somehow he always knows what to say and his timing is impeccable. But just because I knew that Sam had a good point it didn't mean I was necessarily going to follow his advice. Therefore I told him once again that I didn't want to talk, nor did I need to talk.

The blonde boy sighed audibly and I could tell that he was becoming a little frustrated with me. No one could blame him though; I am a difficult person, I have been told that so many times I've lost count. Had I been looking at him though, I would have noticed the small smirk that crept up on his face as he opened his mouth to speak again. "Okay, no talking," he mumbled slyly as he grabbed the hem of his long sleeved T-shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his ridiculously ripped chest and stomach. "I could just hold you . . ." He pulled off his white cotton socks and dropped them on top his shirt. "Climb into the tub with you . . ." he purred suggestively as he grabbed the buckle of his belt and begun to unbuckle it. "And just hold you," the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled down followed as soon as the belt had fallen to the floor.

As his words reached my ears I almost couldn't stop myself from snorting a laugh. Leave it to Sam Evans to try to turn a situation from pregnant with gravity to lighthearted and flirty in a turnabout, anything to get me talking.

I figured he must be teasing me, so instead of starting to yell at him to put his clothes on like I normally would, I decided to respond to his silly game with total and utter silence.

With a smug smile on my face I turned my head back towards the wall and closed my eyes, knowing that it was just a matter of seconds until I could declare myself the winner of this battle.

I was waiting for the sound of his clothes being picked up and the door being pulled open, but all I could hear was the music that played with a calming frequency out in the living room. The sound of keyboards and light percussion embraced me and pulled me away from reality.

I snapped out of my thoughts a few seconds later, though, as I felt something firm and warm grace the bare skin just below my hip. Almost simultaneously a warm hand gently touched down on my shoulder and carefully pushed me forward. My breath caught in my throat as I figured out what was going on. It surprised me—no, shocked would be a better term—that Sam had been completely serious about the proposition he made earlier.

The water level rose considerably as his body slid into the bathtub behind me. The smell of his aftershave washed over me and I couldn't help but drag a deep breath. His left hand was still resting lightly on my shoulder as I felt his long legs stretch out along mine. The dark hairs on the inside of his shins tickled the smooth skin right below my knees whenever he moved them slightly.

My cheeks were heating up in pace with my increasing heart rate. I had definitely not expected the otherwise so timid blonde young man to jump into the bathtub with me. But oh so wrong I had been . . .

He used the hand he had placed on my shoulder to pull me back towards him until my back rested against his bare and chiseled chest. His strong arms wrapped around my middle section, but he was careful not to let his hands slide too far down, or up, my body. I felt his toned chest rise and fall against my back as he slowly breathed in the honey and jasmine scented air that filled my bathroom.

"You know I will keep asking you about what happened until you finally get tired of my nagging and open up, right?" he mumbled quietly, his lips almost gracing my ear.

"Yeah?" was the only thing I managed to utter.

"Yeah," he copied and leaned his head back against the bathtub edge. "So do you want to talk about it?" he queered cautiously. I failed to suppress the small giggle that pushed up through my throat – Sam is a man that keeps his promises.

But soon my momentary delight was replaced by a growing weight in my chest. With a deep sigh I leaned my head backwards until it rested in the crook of Sam's neck.

Two of the things I hate the most are to show people I'm weak and to talk about my father. Here Sam was asking me to do both and as much as I wanted to scold him for forcing me to do it, I knew he just wanted to help me. He was correct when he stated that I nearly became a crazy person because I refused to talk to people about my post-pregnancy depression, as I like to refer to it. He was probably right when he said that this would have a similar effect on me if I didn't talk to anyone about it. So I decided to go against my standards and get it off my chest.

"He was actually the one who initiated contact," I told Sam as I let my eyes drift close so that my brain could use the insides of my eyelids as a movie screen. "I found a mail from him in my inbox a few days ago were he told me he was in New York and that he wanted us to meet, and I quote 'because it's been a while since I last saw you, Luce'." I shuddered as I felt the horrible nickname my father used for me when I was a little child roll off my tongue. I despise when people reminded me about my past as Lucy Caboosey.

Through emails my father and I had decided to meet up at a nearby café and in theory it sounded like a decent plan. However, I have to admit that while walking down to our rendezvous the idea to turn around and walk home crossed my mind numerous times. I wish now that I would have obeyed to those intuitions.

When I reached the café my father was already there. He was seated at a small square table near one of the picture windows; from there we would have a great view over the small park that was located on the other side of the road. When I reached the table I found that he had already ordered for us; a cup of tea for him and hot chocolate with whipped cream for me, something we always ordered when I was a little kid and my father and I went out to a café. It surprised me to see that he still remembered my order after all these years.

After a rather awkward greeting were I wasn't sure whether I should shake his hand or give him a light hug or maybe even peck his cheek, we both sat down and begun to nurse our drinks. He asked me questions about my studies at Yale, where I lived, if I had found somewhere to work yet, what my plans for the future were and if I planned on moving back 'home', as he referred to Lima as, which I found rather funny since he left the city rather quickly after word got out that he had been fooling around with 'a tattooed freak', as my mother called her. What he never asked me about were Beth and my friends from McKinley High, though we briefly touched upon Rachel and Finn's upcoming wedding when I mentioned what was going on in my life, but he quickly changed the subject when he heard me mention Finn's name. I couldn't help but wondering how he would react if I brought up Puck's name.

We moved from talking about me to talk about him for about half an hour before we had run out of topics to converse about, by then the clock had just passed 6.45 and the café was closing in fifteen minutes. Much to my surprise my father asked me if I would join him to the bar just around the corner. Since our meeting had gone relatively well—better than I had ever imagined it would—I decided that an additional hour, and a few drinks, with him wouldn't do any harm.

We walked the short distance to the bar my father had spotted on his way to the café earlier today. It was a small and cozy place with a homely feeling over it and I almost immediately fell in love with it even though I am not a very big fan of bars, the bar where Landon and I work is an exception – in my experience a bar is a place where late middle age truck drivers, with their oversized indigo blue jeans exposing about two centimeters of their butt crack, gather to down a couple of beers before they head back to their truck cabs and call it a night.

Almost two hours passed as we talked about all sorts of things; the weather, the economy; the upcoming presidential election. When the clock struck 8.30 I decided that it was time for me to go. At that point my father had gotten a little past tipsy and his speech was becoming somewhat slurred. I hadn't kept count on how many refills he had had but let's just say that they were a few too many. He hugged me and told me how much he had enjoyed spending the evening with me and in that moment it felt like Beth, and he cheating on my mother never happened. For the first time in little over six years I felt like I had a father. That missed feeling made it practically impossible for me to turn him down when he asked if he could accompany me back to my apartment. He stated that he had always looked forward to the day when I would have my own home to decorate because he knew that I would make such a good job at it.

I sighed loudly and pierced my bottom lip between my teeth as I tried to brace myself for what was to come. Behind me I felt Sam shift slightly as he pulled his arms tighter around me. He crocked his neck so that he could lean his head against mine, his soft lips placed a tender kiss at my temple.

"A little over twenty minutes later we stepped into my apartment and after a quick tour around the place we settled on the living room couch with a glass of red wine each," I told the blonde. "I think he caught sight of one of the photographs in the bookshelf, because all of a sudden he started shaking his head while he muttered something along the line of 'It's such a shame, Quinnie. We were so perfect. The perfect family.' And something just snapped inside me," I mumbled, my voice cracking during the last sentence. "For the first time I had the courage to stand up against my father. Telling him that I am human and that humans do make mistakes sometimes."

I hadn't noticed that I had started crying before I felt Sam's soft fingers brush against my cheek as he wiped the escaped tears away. His other arm was still wrapped securely around my stomach were his fingers had started to trace circles on the bare skin just below my ribcage. "It's okay. I'm here. It's okay," he kept repeating quietly, almost as a mantra, until my crying calmed down.

With my left hand I wiped away the fresh tears that were trickling down my cheeks as I gathered strength to tell Sam the rest of the story. "Suddenly it was as if someone had swapped my new and improved father with the one that I knew six years ago," I sniffed. "He shot up from his seat and started shouting at me about how I messed up his life and how I was a shame to the family name. Then I started shouting and the next thing I know he hits me . . ." I trailed off as I raised my hand to carefully touch the sore skin above my right eye.

As I uttered the last few words I felt Sam's body tense up and I could see how his fingers curled into tight fists. Under his breath he muttered horrible things he would do to my father if the older man ever did as much as try to make contact with me again. It surprised me to hear such harsh words leave the blonde man's mouth, but at the time I was too emotionally exhausted to be angry at him for it.

"What else did the son of a bitch do to you?" he asked in a harsh voice and I could tell that he was very upset. He is usually not one to call people such horrible things.

I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut for a short moment as I tried to regain control over my feelings. "He grabbed my arms, really hard . . . and then he hit me again," I sobbed loudly before I brought my hands up to gently rub at where he had grabbed me. The skin had already started to turn a purplish-blue and even the tender touch of my fingers caused the bruises to ache. "Finn and Rachel had promised they'd come by and check on me after Rachel's show and they must have heard the turmoil right when they stepped out of the elevator, because Finn almost broke the door when he threw it open."

Sam's left hand found mine under the water and he carefully interlaced our fingers while he let his thumb run slowly back and forth over my knuckles in a soothing gesture.

The image of how Finn crossed the living room in three quick leaps before he tore my father away from me and put him in a headlock before sending him to the floor with a loud thud played in front of my eyes. "I, I don't know what would have happened if they hadn't come by at that time . . ."

"Shh, Quinn. It's okay. He won't hurt you again," Sam mumbled into my ear while his right hand thumb continued to caress my knuckles and his other arm pulled me closer to him.

* * *

The water had long ago turned lukewarm and the foam had almost vanished when Sam gently nudged my arm to get my attention. For the past fifteen minutes or so I had drifted back and forth between light sleep and semi-consciousness. When I finally managed to pry my eyes open into small slits I noticed that most of the vanilla scented candles had gone out and we were bathing in almost complete darkness.

"It's getting cold . . . and I think I'm beginning to get pruney fingers," the blonde mumbled in my ear. He sounded like a five year old child, and I couldn't help but snicker at him.

I know I probably should feel a little uncomfortable lying naked in a bathtub in the middle of the night with my ex-boyfriend, but for some reason it didn't feel weird at all. Actually, it felt kind of natural, like it was something we had done forever.

Sighing quietly I stretched out my arms in front of me and felt something pop in my back.

"Yeah," I purred. "Maybe we should get up."

Sam begun to stir behind me before he finally grabbed the edges of the tub and pushed himself up. I didn't mean to, but accidently I happened to catch a glimpse of him as he climbed out of the lukewarm bath. That's when I spotted the tight gray material that clung to his buttocks. "Hey, that's unfair!" I exclaimed and he turned around and gave me a confused expression, the thin fabric clinging so tight to his body that there was almost nothing left for the imagination.

I pointed to his tight boxer shorts. "I, I thought . . . that . . ."

He gave me a sly smirk before he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of the grey Calvin Kleins. "I could remove them if you want me to," he purred seductively as he slowly pushed the wet cotton material further down his hips.

Instinctively I brought my hands up to cover my eyes. "God, no!" I screamed and I felt my cheeks heating up.

Sam chuckled heartedly and I heard his clothes being picked up from the floor. "I'll head out to the kitchen so you can . . ." I felt his gaze trailing down from my eyes to my exposed neck and further down to my shoulders. He brought a hand up to rub at his neck as he caught me arching an eyebrow at him. "I'll be in the kitchen," he said and walked out of the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later I crawled into bed as Sam closed the blinds to keep out the lights from the neon signs, streetlights and car headlights. He had put on all his clothes again, minus the wet boxers which he had hung up to dry on a towel rack in my bathroom. He smiled at me sweetly as I pulled the thick duvet almost all the way up to my chin. "You think you'll be able to sleep?" he queered caringly as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Thinking about it, I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth and chewed on it for a short moment. Nightmares would probably be unavoidable after such an emotionally stressful day, but I was exhausted and the Sandman was already trying to pull me into his dream world. I nodded and offered the blonde man a small smile. "Yeah."

He nodded slowly as his soft lips mimed the word 'good'. Then he grew quiet for a while. "You know I'll stay if you want me to, right?" he asked after a moment of comfortable silence, all the awkward tension that had existed between us last Friday after the basketball game was gone – or maybe it had never really existed in the first place?

I gave him a small nod in response.

"Promise you'll call me tomorrow when you wake up, okay?"

"Yeah, I promise," I mumbled as he leaned down as planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

* * *

Author's note,

So this is Chapter Eleven . . . don't really know what to say about it other than it's mostly about Sam and Quinn getting closer (kind of like the previous chapter). I had a very good time writing it though – the chapter pretty much wrote itself, which is always fun. Hopefully you'll like too :)

**SamEvans17:** Thank you! :) I hope you liked this chapter as well. It's a bit more emotional than the previous ones, I think, and there's a lot more Fabrevans in it ;)

Puck will show up in the next chapter and Artie and Tina will make appearances as well. Of course Sam, Quinn, Rachel and Finn will be in it too so there will be quite a few New Directioners in it :) And there will be music performances, because what would_ Glee_ be without its music?

**Ashley:** Thank you so much! Honestly, I can't quite answer why Sam didn't kiss Quinn. Maybe he realized they were moving too fast? Or perhaps he was afraid of getting hurt again? Or he might have thought she would turn him down? What do you think? :)

I'm sorry I couldn't give you a kiss in this chapter, but I don't think it would have been appropriate considering the state Quinn was in when Sam "found" her (Rachel tipped him off, hehe). I can, however, promise you that you won't have to wait too long for their anticipated kiss.

**RJRRAA:** I'm glad you like the chapter and it's really nice to see that you're still following this story even though the updates haven't been as frequent as I promised at the beginning.

I'm sorry if I confused you; no, Quinn does not have a boyfriend. Puck is, however, not as stupid as many of his friends think and he has picked up on some signals (Sam playing with Quinn's hair for example) and, as most people already know, Puck is quite famous for speaking his mind (kind of like Santana). I hope this sorted out some of the questions you had :)

**Alex B. Goode:** Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it. Who knows maybe Matt Rutherford and Lauren Zizes will appear later on in this story? I haven't quite decided yet, they have to fit into the story, you know.


	12. Chapter 12

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 12 _

"Hurry up, Quinn! We're going to be late!" Rachel's voice came through the bathroom door followed by an additional few firm knocks. I could picture the petite brunette tapping her ballerina flat clad foot against the hardwood floor impatiently while one of her small hands rested on her hip and her head was tilted slightly upwards so she could stare at the roof while counting seconds that passed. It wouldn't surprise me if I found her like that when I exited the bathroom.

"Quinn, hurry!"

I sighed loudly and applied the last of the make-up; a light hint of pink lip gloss to match the black and white printed baby doll dress and Persian blue cardigan. I run my hands through my hair a couple of times to adjust the soft curls. It had to do, I thought. Rachel would kill me if I spent any longer in the bathroom.

Fingering the gold cross that hung around my neck I unlocked the bathroom door with my other hand. "Wow, Rachel, calm down. It's not like we're going to see Justin Bieber or One Direction," I mumbled quietly as I passed her, rolling my eyes. Growing up she had never been a big fan of any of those guys, but right about now she definitely acted like those girls waiting for hours outside a hotel just to get a glimpse of their idols.

The short brunette snorted. "You've been in there for forty minutes. _Forty_ minutes, Quinn! We should have met Finn and Puck fifteen minutes ago. Besides, you don't even like One Direction."

Her heels clattered against the floor as she followed me out into the hallway. She grabbed her sunglow colored blazer that she had carelessly thrown over a chair just inside the front door.

"You got everything?" she queered as she pushed the door open. I nodded and motioned for her to move out of the way so that I could close the door behind us.

We we're unusually lucky flagging down an empty taxi once we had gotten out of the large building in which I live. Rachel gave the man driving the yellow vehicle the address to the bar while I fastened my seatbelt. The man—a Middle Eastern man in his late fifties with a neatly trimmed mustache—smiled kindly at us through the rearview mirror as he pulled off of the curb. "You young ladies planning on visiting Henry's?" he said in a deep warm voice that got me thinking about Santa Clause for some reason.

Beside me Rachel nodded and smiled at the driver through the rearview mirror. "Yes, sir. We are. Have you been there?"

The taxi driver nodded. "As a matter of fact, Gary Loman is a former colleague of mine. The man quit a few years back when his uncle, that is old Henry Walters, asked him to become part-owner of the bar. It is a very nice place."

Rachel and the Middle Eastern taxi driver continued to chat for a few minutes until her cell phone started to ring. After having dug through her seemingly bottomless purse she finally found the device and placed it to her ear. While she chatted with whom I assumed was her fiancé I turned my head to gaze out the window, lampposts, red hydrants and every now and then an ornamental tree in a bright color flashed by outside the window. For some reason the colorful trees got me thinking of the Disney movie _Mulan_, and from there my thoughts automatically wandered to a certain Asian girl I went to school with. I wondered what Tina were up to nowadays, I hadn't seen her in a while, but I had hear about Mike and her. It's such a shame; they're made for each other.

A light tap on my knee brought me out of my deep thoughts. Slowly I turned my head to glance at the brunette beside me. "Finn says Puck and he are headed inside to get us a table," she said and placed her iPhone back in her purse. "Also they said Artie and Tina will drop by—No, they are not dating, I think. Tina is still upset about the fact that Mike left her to open a dance studio in Los Angeles with Brittany," Rachel added before I managed to form any words, I suppose my furrowed eyebrows spoke clearly enough.

Slowly I nodded. I could see why Tina would dislike Mike leaving. They had been apart for one year when he went to college in Chicago and she was still at McKinley High. Then when she graduated she had moved to live with him in the Windy City and as soon as he finished his studies he left for Los Angeles, leaving Tina with the promise that he'd be back for every holiday. Sure, he held that promise, but living alone in a city where you know no one isn't exactly the funniest thing. Therefore Tina had packed her bags and headed to New York where she got a job as head of a local Glee Club.

"Oh, we're here!" Rachel squealed as the cab slowed down outside a two story brick building with a large neon sign above the door. She tipped the driver and wished him a nice weekend, before she hooked her arm with mine and started to pull me towards the entrance. "I am so excited. Aren't you, Quinnie?"

I shot her a sideways glance. "Woah, calm down, Rachel. People might think you're on something," I hissed in her ear. "And I don't feel like peeing in a cup and spending the night in detention."

The brunette chuckled and slapped my arm. "Oh, take a chill pill, Quinn. You're worrying way too much."

Finding Finn and Puck turned out to be much harder than Rachel and I had anticipated. The place was far more crowded than we could ever have imagined. I thought it was just another local bar with yet another local half-crappy band. Obviously my expectations had been very wrong.

Nevertheless we found the two young men seated by a table fairly close to the stage. A large glass of what appeared to be some kind of whiskey was placed on the table in front of each man. Noah Puckerman was the first one to spot us as we made our way through the already pretty busy local. He rose from the table and waved at us. "Baby Mama and my super-hot fellow Jew, how ya' doin' ladies?" he asked as we reached their table. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Finn's back stiffening slightly when Puck called his fiancée 'my super-hot fellow Jew'. It wasn't a secret that the man with the Mohawk had had a thing with Rachel during sophomore year, and even though Finn and Rachel had reconciled and was about to marry it was still a sensitive issue.

The brunette woman beamed at Puck. "We are good, thank you, Noah," she said before she pulled him into a friendly embrace. Meanwhile I took a seat to the left of Finn. The tall brunette was fingering the whiskey glass in front of him as if to distract himself from thinking about his fiancée's past relationship with his best friend. I placed a gentle hand on his forearm and he gave me a glance and a lopsided grin.

A short moment later all four of us were seated around the table nursing drinks Puck had bought us; the Mohawk man claimed he knew the bartender and therefore could get drinks for half price. Frankly, it wouldn't surprise me if it was the truth he told us; the man seemed to have contacts wherever he went. In some ways he reminded me of a character from a mob film I saw a few weeks earlier.

"So are you excited to see the performance, Quinn?" Puck queered when we were half-way through our drinks. The twinkle in his eye told me he knew more than he was letting on. I furrowed my brows and wrinkled my forehead, which caused him to chuckle. "Oh, come on, Q. Don't give me that look. Just prepare to get your mind blown," he said with a sly smirk on his face. I glanced at Rachel who was carefully stirring her Margarita. The ice cubes rattled as she moved them around in the hot pink drink. The brunette shrugged while a confused frown wrinkled her forehead.

"Well, if you say so," I mumbled and brought my drink to my lips. "Speaking about getting 'your mind blown', how did you interview go?" Puck had told me through Skype a few weeks ago about a job interview he was about to attend in New York, hence why he was here and not back home in Los Angeles.

"They were a bunch of fags," he grumbled with his stare plastered on the table top, but soon he quickly leveled his hazel eyes to glance at Finn. "Sorry, dude. You know what I mean though."

The ex-McKinley High quarterback nodded slowly.

I knew Finn had long ago gotten used to that; people using the words 'gay', 'fag', 'queer' and 'homo' to then abruptly grow quiet before they begun apologizing. For the most time it pissed him off; first people were using derogatory words, then they were alerting the fact that those words often were used to insult his brother and then they would start apologizing to _him_ when the person they should say their 'I'm sorry's to was Kurt. However, when any of us—his friends—accidently used any of those terms, especially the F-word, it didn't bother him that much, simply because he knew how much Kurt means to all of us. We would never intentionally say anything that could hurt him, but every now and then we would accidently drop an offensive word. It's like terms to define homosexual people have become swearwords in pretty much all languages. It is horrible really.

"Anyway, the dudes didn't want to give me the job. Fuckin' assholes. I guess they couldn't handle all the sexiness. I'm, like, on fire. That's how hot this badass Jew is and they didn't have a lot of emergency exits and fire-extinguishers – I checked."

"I'm sorry about that, Noah. But, surely, you will soon find a decent job somewhere. Meanwhile, don't you need any mechanics at the shop, Finn?" Rachel asked her fiancé.

The tall brunette scratched his neck. "Well, I wouldn't say we're in need of one. But, surely I can get you job there if you want. The salary won't be very good, but at least it's something."

"Wow, that'd be awesome, man! Look, I'm not in desperate need of money. I just want something to do, you know. You remember my deadbeat father? I kinda found out he passed away a few months ago, and his money is being split up between us kids. Apparently the dude had won the jackpot on one of those slot machines in Vegas. Can you believe that? Anyway, it turned out he had forgotten to erase Sarah's and my name from his will when he left us. Jake's name's in there too. But the point is; money's not gonna be a problem for me for quite some time to come," the man with the Mohawk said with a wide grin on his face.

Rachel and I exchanged confused glances. We were a little unsure of how to react to all that. Should we congratulate him over the unexpected emolument or should we tell him we're sorry for his loss? I decided to go with a mix of the two; it seemed like the safest option.

"I'm sorry to hear he's dead. He was quite young, wasn't he? But it's a good thing he left your name in the will. Maybe it was his way of apologizing..." I said and shrugged, even to me that sounded fairly unlikely.

"Thanks, Q," he mumbled and smiled at me.

Not long after Puck told us about his father's death and the money he had gotten Artie and Tina showed up by our table.

"Shh! The band's about to start playing," Rachel hissed excitedly as three men in their early to mid-twenties entered the stage. One of them, a tall slender man with light brown hair, carried an electric guitar in his hand while one of his band mates, a slightly shorter man with dark hair cropped short to the skull, carried a bass. The third man, the one with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, clutched only a water bottle in his hands. It was soon revealed that he was the drummer as he sat down behind the drum kit. He reminded me of Kurt Cobain with that unruly hair and the old beige cardigan and the worn jeans. The style suited him and I would lie if I said I didn't find it attractive.

Not many people know this about me, but I actually had a crush on Kurt Cobain while in high school. The inappropriateness of that celebrity crush made me keep quiet about it. I was the head cheerleader at the time, how would it look if I kept posters of a drug abusing Grunge band front man in my locker? A dead guy nevertheless. Sue Sylvester would have kicked me off the squad! Or at least put me at the bottom of the pyramid. And don't even get me started on my parents. If they found out, they would have sent me to a convent.

I was so busy picturing Kurt Cobain entering the stage that I didn't pay attention to the fourth man that stepped out from behind the heavy curtain. In his hand he clutched an old semi acoustic guitar. Causally the tall man, dressed in a light blue hoodie over a pale gray T-shirt and worn stone-washed Levi's with rips on his knees, walked up to the microphone stand at the front center of the stage. A grey beanie covered his hair except from the blonde bangs that fell across his forehead.

Everybody in the bar turned their attention towards the stage as the front man strummed the first few notes on his guitar. It didn't take long before everybody started cheering. Obviously, they recognized the song. I think I would have too if I hadn't been so busy staring at the blonde singer. It sure looked a lot like Sam Evans . . .

When he opened his mouth there was no doubt in my mind that the man standing before us at that stage was my Sam, I mean _our_ Sam. His singing voice sounded huskier and rawer than I remembered though, but nevertheless, it suited him.

_Sally called when she got the word,  
She said: "I suppose you've heard –  
About Alice".  
Well I rushed to the window,  
And I looked outside,  
But I could hardly believe my eyes –  
As a big limousine rolled slowly  
Into Alice's drive... _

The other three men in the band joined Sam for the chorus, and they sounded really good together. However, they sounded nothing like Smokie, but that couldn't be expected either. But nevertheless they sounded awesome.

The song, the clean version, of course, got me thinking about bubble baths. I remember how my mother always used to put that song on whenever I got to take a bath as a small child. That was one of the really good memories I have of my family.

The version that was played at our house when I was young was, as already pointed out, of course the clean version. I believe the song is called _Living Next Door to Alice_, but the title _Who the Fuck Is Alice? _better represent the song since that is the line everyone seem to remember from the uncensored version. And the people in the bar proved that as they all, in tune, shouted 'Alice, who the fuck is Alice?' after Sam finished singing 'I've been living next door to Alice'.

_Oh, I don't know why she's leaving,  
Or where she's gonna go,  
I guess she's got her reasons,  
But I just don't want to know,  
'Cos for twenty-four years  
I've been living next door to Alice.  
__Alice, who the fuck is Alice? _

The second part of the chorus was as catchy first part and now a couple of people were singing along to more than just the famous last line of the chorus. But of course even more people joined in for said last line, shouting at the top of their lungs.

_Twenty-four years just waiting for a chance,  
To tell her how I'm feeling, maybe get a second glance,  
Now I've got to get used to not living next door to Alice...  
Alice, who the fuck is Alice?_

I watched the rest of the song unable to wipe the smile off of my face. It had been so long since I last heard Sam sing. Sure, I heard him sing karaoke at his party a few months ago, but that was just for fun, a game, nothing serious.

He looked so happy, so comfortable up on the small stage, and I can hardly recall seeing him beaming like this since before all the drama in high school.

_Now I'll never get used to not living next door to Alice..._

Sam full lips parted into a wide toothy grin as everyone applauded his band and him. Judging by the expression on his face it had been quite some time since he last experienced something like this. Perhaps, the last time was during his senior year at McKinley, I didn't know. But without a doubt he was enjoying every second up on that stage even though the number of people in this bar was nothing compared to the large audiences we used to perform in front of when in Glee Club.

Speaking of Glee Club, I hadn't noticed it earlier, but towards the very end of _Living Next Door to Alice_ Puck, Finn and Artie and disappeared. I gazed around the local, in an attempt to maybe catch a glimpse of one of them, but I ended up combing zero. None of them were to be seen.

"Where did the boys go?" I queered confused as I turned my head to face Rachel and Tina. The two women looked equally confused.

"I don't know," Tina said after a short moment. Out of the corner of my eye I could see movement on the stage and I assumed the band together with Sam was getting ready to play another song. "One by one they got up and walked away. They didn't say anything to me. Did Finn say something to you, Rachel?" The otherwise very talkative brunette just shook her head.

Loudly I drew a deep breath, before I reached out and gripped my tequila glass. The ice cubes that had once floated around in the pink liquid had long ago melted and left behind only a single slice of grape fruit that clung to the rim of the tall glass.

Suddenly I felt Rachel tap my shoulder, and I let my eyes travel to the corner of my eyes. The petite brunette was staring at something behind me with twinkling eyes and her mouth slightly ajar. Pretending like I hadn't noticed her tapping my shoulder I returned my attention to the colorful drink in front of me.

That was when I heard it, Artie's very unique voice coming through the speakers and filling the large room.

_Everybody  
Rock your body  
Everybody  
Rock your body right_

Quickly I spun around, towards the stage, almost knocking the tequila glass over with my abrupt movement. My ears hadn't fooled me; our wheelchair bound, former Glee Club team mate was up on the stage, a headset microphone fastened on his head. A single spotlight was focusing on him while the rest of the stage bathed in darkness.

_ND boys are back_

The last line of the chorus wasn't sung by Artie alone. In fact he was accompanied by at least two of three other men. Then suddenly three more spotlight turned on and casted light on the four men: Puck, Sam, Artie and Finn, arrayed in that order, with the band dimly seen in the shadowed background.

_Oh my God, we're back again  
Brothers, sisters, everybody sing  
We're gonna bring the flavor, show you how  
I've gotta question for you, better answer now (yeah)_

As Noah Puckerman's voice filled my ears, I could barely contain myself from shooting up from my seat; throw my hands in the air and cheer. God, had I missed seeing these guys perform together. Rachel and Tina were of the same opinion judging by the thrilled expressions on their faces.

Furthermore, the choreography was amazing! Sure, it wasn't super advanced – nothing like the one we used for the mash-up of _Thriller_ (_Heads Will Roll)_. But it was still pretty challenging, and I guess it was pretty much the same degree of difficulty as the dance Puck, Sam, Mike and Artie did for their cover of _Somebody to Love_ during the short lived existence of the Justin Bieber Experience or the one they did for _Let Me Love You_. Nevertheless, they must have worked on the choreography for quite some time considering how well Finn executed it, and, let's just say the tall lanky ex-football player is not a natural dancer.

_Am I original? (Yeah)  
Am I the only one? (Yeah)  
Am I sexual? (Yeah)  
Am I everything you need?  
You better rock your body now_

Sam sang us the first line, letting his hands slide down his well-toned body, while the remaining three young men nodded their heads as they in chorus answered with a 'yeah'.

Finn did the second line at the same time as he proved to Rachel, Tina and I, as well as everyone else in the room, that he definitely could learn how to dance if he really wanted to.

The look on Rachel's face was one of pure joy as she watched her husband-to-be move his body _in sync_ to the catchy music.

The third line belonged to Sam and I'm being completely honest when I say that I though one of the girls at the table beside us were going to faint when he did his famous body roll. Frankly, I can't blame her, the blonde has surely learned how to perfect that move over the years.

Puck and Sam ended the pre-chorus together. I've always loved their voices together.

_Everybody (Yeah)  
Rock your body (Yeah)  
Everybody  
Rock your body right  
ND boys are back  
Alright_

The second chorus all four boys sang together.

_Now throw your hands up in the air  
And wave 'em around like you just don't care  
If you wanna party let me hear you yell  
'Cause we got it goin' on again_

I almost though Rachel was going to explode when Finn, alone, sang the second verse. The petite brunette had been sitting at the edge of her chair, her hands placed at either side of her, clutching the seat so hard I was fairly sure there would be indentations left after her nails. She was biting her bottom lip to keep from letting her smile reach from ear to ear while she excitedly watched Finn sing and dance in front of a crowd for the first time in several years.

The second pre-chorus and chorus were practically identical to the previous one, the only difference being Artie taking Finn's part in the pre-chorus. But then after a short instrumental break the music slowed down and Puck, Finn and Artie took a few steps back—actually, Artie rolled—leaving Sam alone at the front of the stage. The blonde let his gaze sweep over the heads of the people in the crowd, resting his eyes only a few second longer on our table than the others. Unintentionally, I felt my heart skip a beat as his eyes met mine and a small smile appeared on his lips as he sang.

_So everybody, everywhere  
Don't be afraid, don't have no fear  
I'm gonna tell the world, make you understand  
As long as there'll be music, we'll be coming back again_

The quartet finished the popular Backstreet Boys track with a double repetition of the chorus while almost everyone in the bar had risen from their seats to give a round of applause to the four young men. A few cat whistles were heard and someone screamed that they wanted to hear the song again. Up on the stage, bathing in yellow and orange, stood Finn, Sam, Artie and Puck all smiles and twinkling eyes as they took in the crowd. It was obvious they had missed performing.

The applause eventually died out and the four men left the stage through the back door. It was probably a wise decision to lay low for a few minutes until all the young single females in the bar had calmed down a little.

Rachel just shook her head, a lopsided grin on her face, as we watched a tall redhead woman in perhaps her late twenties look totally beat down as the boys left the scene without acknowledging her. I snickered quietly. They had done one song and they already had a groupie. That's freaking unbelievable!

"I'm going to the lady's room. If I'm not back within ten minutes one of the groupies over there might have figured out I have connections to the guys and kidnapped me for ransom," I said and rose from the table, grabbing my purse as I went. Rachel and Tina nodded with matching smirks on their faces, before they went back to discussing some new Broadway production I didn't catch the name of.

Fifteen minutes later, when I got back to our table Finn, Puck, Artie and Sam had found Rachel and Tina and the six of them where laughing heartedly as I reached the table.

Puck was the first one to notice me. "Baby Mama," he said, "how'd ya like the show?"

I smirked and placed a hand on Artie's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The wheelchair bound young man glanced up at me and smiled. "It was bearable," I teased and Puck scoffed.

"We rocked this place!"

"Hell yeah!" Sam smirked.

Finn nodded in agreement. "You got that one right, man!"

"Drinks on me!" Artie chimed in and the other three boys cheered loudly.

Artie managed to flag down a tall red-haired waitress and ordered drinks to all of us while Rachel and Tina fell back into the conversation they had been carrying earlier. Meanwhile Puck was telling Finn about some 'kickass ride' his new neighbor was selling.

The sound of Sam's deep timbre and the feeling of his hand on my forearm brought me out of my thoughts. "I think I took you seat," he said and began to rise from his seat. "I'll go get another chair."

"No," I said, probably a little too fast, because he looked up at me from under long blonde bangs with a frown on his face. "It's okay," I said, my left hand on his shoulder gently pushed him back into his seat.

I don't know what made me do it, but seconds later I found myself sitting in his lap, one arm thrown casually around his neck while I used my other hand to bring my drink to my lips. His chest was rising and falling with an even rhythm against my side and I could feel his chest vibrating as he spoke. "How'd I do tonight?" he asked quietly, his eyes glued on the empty stage as he spoke.

Absentmindedly I let the fingers of my left hand twirl the soft blonde curls at the nape of his neck. The sand colored wisps of hair felt like silk between my petite fingers. "You did great," I responded in a voice only audible to him.

His eyes left the stage and fell on me. Piercing blue-green met hazel and his soft pink lips parted into a smile. "I've missed this," he murmured and his left hand found mine where it rested in my lap. Effortlessly he slid his fingers in between mine as if they had been created for that purpose alone.

Author's note,

I feel horrible for not having updated this fanfic since early May, but I just lost my motivation and inspiration. I guess I've got too many different plots to upcoming stories in my head to be able to focus on one. Funny thing is I can't seem to get any of them down on paper…

So a huge Thank You goes out to all of you out there who have decided to stay with me on this story. It means a lot!

Moving on to talk about Chapter 12, I thought since the reason all these people in this fanfic know each other is music and Glee Club I thought it was about time I include some singing in this story, don't you agree?

The first song performed is _Living Next Door to Alice (Who the F*** Is Alice?)_ by Smokie. (That song brings back so many good memories from my childhood!)

The second song is Backstreet Boys' _Everybody (Backstreet's Back)_. If you'd like to see the choreography for _Everybody_ just click on the link below.

_ watch?v=b-NHyzF23yA_

I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you perhaps recognized and liked the songs. I spent quite some time looking for tracks that I thought would fit (and even more time figuring out who would sing what part in _Everybody_) ;)

Thank you for reading and please review and let me know what you think of the chapter.

**Ashley:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this story! :)

First of all, you won't have to wait long for their kiss. Both next chapter and the one after that will be full of moments that will have great importance for Sam and Quinn's relationship. With the risk of revealing too much, I can tell you that Santana and Rachel will play quite important roles in pushing Sam and Quinn towards each other.

To be honest, I've never really considered writing an Overgron story before. I own the _Glee in Concert Movie_ though and Dianna Agron and Chord Overstreet have such a great chemistry!

I truly appreciate your suggestion and I'll think about it. If I decide to write an Overgron story I'll let you know, either I'll write about it here, in the author's note, or on my writer's page.


	13. Chapter 13

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 13 _

Since my mother and father got divorced holidays in the Fabray household changed quite a lot. The first thing mother did before our first Christmas without father was to buy us an artificial Christmas tree. Father was very traditional and old-fashioned, so whilst he lived with us an artificial Christmas tree, the thought of not making our own candles, and Christmas songs not recorded on vinyl records was out of question.

On further consideration maybe all men are little like that. I remember how my grandfather used to preach about the importance of sticking to traditions. Or maybe it's just my family?

The artificial Christmas tree, the candles bought at the supermarket and the CDs with Christmas songs wasn't the change that was the hardest to adapt to. The loneliness was. Sure, I had mother, but even if she was physically there she was never really there mentally. It was as if I was celebrating Christmas with my mother's empty shell. Christmas had always been very important to her and even though she wasn't as concerned with traditions as my father she strongly believed that Christmas should be a time when families came together. I guess the holiday made her miss father even though he cheated on her. It didn't exactly help that Frannie insisted on spending every Christmas with her fiancé's family at their vacation house in Aspen.

So when I moved to New Haven to attend Yale, it didn't take much persuasion from my newfound friends to convince me to stay with them over the holidays. We created our own traditions consisting of ice skating, hot cocoa drinking and _Love Actually_ watching. My friends, you see, their relationships with their families were about as good as mine. Lola ran away from home when she was sixteen and she claims she hasn't spoken to anyone in her family since then, Kevin's parents put him in foster care when he was only four months old and they never tried to reestablish contact with him nor did he try to find them. He stated that 'they abandoned me for a reason. Either they couldn't take care of me or they didn't want me.' Landon, the guy who got me the job at the bar, was raised by his uncle when his father died in the September 11 attacks in 2001 and his mother fell into a heavy alcohol abuse. Heather was an exchange student from New Zealand who had lost her parents in a car accident when she was ten years old.

So basically we were a bunch of lost young people who came together and made something nice out of something so dark.

Because of that, I guess, it wasn't so strange that I felt split about Christmas this year. It would be the first time in three years that I would be spending it without Lola, Kevin, Landon and Heather, which, I hate to admit, frightened me. They had been the stability in my life that I needed, and I felt a little bad for abandoning them this Christmas even though Landon had tried to convince me that they'd be fine without me.

I was spending the holiday at Rachel and Finn's with Blaine and Kurt, or the entire original New Direction as it turned out Rachel had invited not just Kurt, Blaine and me.

"What on earth are you doing?" I asked as I strolled into the living room to find Rachel standing on her tiptoes on a chair in front of the stereo with Kurt standing on the floor by the chair to make sure it wouldn't fall over.

With a start the brunette woman spun around to face me, one of her hands reached out and grabbed Kurt's shoulder to steady herself and by the look on the young man's face her hold on him was quite firm. "Quinn! God, you scared me," she gabbled and smiled a little nervously.

"I thought we agreed that I would come over a little early and help you with the food and the decorations," I said while narrowing my eyes at the two Broadway fanatics. Was it just me or did Kurt look like he was going to burst?

Rachel nodded rapidly. "Oh. Yes, yes, of course. I remember. You promised you would help me with the food," she mumbled and shot me a smile while her chocolate eyes flickered down to briefly meet Kurt's mélange ones. "Would you be so kind to go into the kitchen and prepare the salad then, Quinn? I'll be right in, I just need to . . . dust the ceiling first."

Yep, Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel had officially gone mad.

I wasn't in the mood of pressuring them until they broke and spilled out all details of whatever they were up to so instead I removed my coat and placed it in the closet near the front door and left my purse on the bench Finn used to sit down on when he was trying to pull on his Chuck Taylors without untying them first. I wonder when he's going to realize that it'll actually be easier if he _untie_ the shoes, put them on and then tie them instead of first fighting to get his foot into the shoe for three minutes before he realizes that it is never going to work. Then he have to ask Rachel to help him untie them because the knot his too tight for his thick fingers.

Rachel eventually came to help me and three hours later the table was set and all the food was done. Kurt had given the house a final touch with beautiful garlands in red, white and silver and Rachel and he had convinced me to hook the sound system to my iPhone and use the old Christmas playlist I put together in high school.

"God, Rachel, this food is fantastic!" Blaine commented in between bites and everyone around the table nodded in agreement. "If you ever open a restaurant I will become a regular there. This is amazing."

Rachel snickered heartedly while wiping her hands on her white napkin. "I will have to put Quinn on my payroll then, because she is the one who cooked this lovely dinner," Rachel admitted and I immediately began to shake my head. "Oh, yes, you did. I made the marinade for the ham and made sure the Turnkey would not burn though, so I was kind of important as well. But, it's mainly Quinn."

"It's really good," Puck chimed in and Blaine nodded in agreement, again.

"Super awesome," said Sam.

"Why, thank you, guys," I said and blushed a little.

"Now that you didn't get that job at the agency why don't you open your own place; a restaurant, a café or maybe even a coffee shop. I bet you make the most delicious Cappuccino," Blaine continued once he had swallowed the piece of turkey he had been chewing on. "Not that I don't like yours, babe," he added when Kurt shot him a glance. "It's just that it tastes . . . a lot."

I smiled while letting my index finger trace the rim of my wine glass. Maybe, Blaine's idea wasn't so bad. I had always wanted to open my own café, perhaps this was my chance of actually fulfilling my childhood dream. Oh, Bianca would be so jealous of me.

* * *

"Not _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ again!" Santana cried when Mariah Carey sincerely admitted that she didn't want a lot for Christmas. "I've had to listen to this song _all the way_ from the airport. The taxi driver had it on repeat. Repeat! Please, Trouty, change to another song—no, another playlist!" the Latina said, almost pleadingly to the young blonde man.

He just chuckled. "Don't know 'bout that, Santana. You're being kinda mean, calling me names and stuff," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He was playing a dangerous game with Satan.

"¡Oh, por el amor de Dios, _Sam_! Me estoy volviendo loca! Apaga el estéreo!" the Latina yelped, the words rolling off her tongue so quickly that I bet no one else in the room could perceive them. Sam stared at her in surprise for a short moment before Santana brought him out of his stupor by pronouncing her demand in English. "Santana wants another song, Fish Face. _Now_!"

Chuckling softly he rose to his feet and walked over to where the iPhone rested in the docking station. "Uh, I kinda need a password," he said and glanced over his shoulder at us. Kurt nudged me in the ribs with his sharp elbow and gave me a pointed look.

Yeah, right, it was my iPhone. I still couldn't understand why Rachel and he had insisted we should use _my_ Spotify account and _my_ cell phone. Usually the two would do anything to get to choose what music we'd listen to.

Reluctantly I climbed to my feet and trudged over to where Sam was standing and punched in the number combination. The blonde smiled softly at me. "Thanks, I almost thought Santana was going to kill me," he joked and I smirked.

Santana would never hurt Sam.

All of a sudden Rachel's face lit up. "Mistletoe! Mistletoe!" she started shrieking and pointed at Sam and me. He and I shared a confused look before he finally dared to level his eyes to the ceiling and soon I did the same. And of course, there it was, a damn mistletoe, pinned to the white ceiling by a thumbtack.

_Fuck._

My eyes flickered between Sam's sweet green eyes and his lips a few times before I averted my gaze to the floor.

"Just kiss those guppy lips, 'cause we all know you've wanted to do that ever since Trouty packed his home and what little he owns into that gigantic mouth of his and moved here," Santana said casually and gave me a pointed look.

I half expected Sam to say something then, partially because Santana made yet another bad joke about his mouth and called him nicknames I know he despises and partially because she insinuated that he was still poor.

Instead he leveled his large, calloused hand and caught mine as I was gesturing in an attempt to convince Rachel that a kiss was out of the question. His thumb with skin rough yet gentle drew a soothing circle at the back of my hand while he used his other hand to gently turn my body so that I was fully facing him.

The look he gave me before he lent in towards me was incredible; all the emotions and memories reflected in his eyes and how they seemed to ask me for permission.

Feeling a little lightheaded from the intensity in his ocean colored eyes I barely managed to give one short, barely noticeable nod.

The moment his soft warm lips graced mine I thought I was going to pass out. I had practically been holding my breath ever since he grabbed my hand and the lack of air was making me feel dizzy. As if that wasn't enough the feeling of his warm, soft lips on mine was making my knees go weak.

God, I'm such a wimp!

Because, if I have to be honest, the kiss in itself was nothing special; no tongue, no nibbling at my lip, no hands in my hair or any such thing, but I hadn't expected it either. Sam is a Southern boy after all; he was born a gentleman.

"Oh, they're so cute!" Rachel sighed almost dreamingly in the background and someone—I think it was Brittany—let out an excited squeal.

The kiss didn't last long, a few seconds at the most, but it was more than enough to make me all giddy. By the time he pulled away one of his hands had traveled up to cup my face and he let his thumb brush my cheek gently before he removed his hand completely and immediately I missed the feeling of his warm fingers on my skin. His deep emerald eyes lingered on mine for a short moment before he bit down on his plump lip and averted his gaze.

As I sat back down again on the couch between Puck and Finn I caught Rachel and Santana exchanging a glance. And the penny dropped.

* * *

"You set me up!" I hissed. "Kurt and you planned this, didn't you? That's why you said you didn't need my help with the decorations. That's why you sent me to the kitchen. How long have you two been plotting this?"

The brunette woman gave me a surprised look, but the way she squirmed a little gave her away. "How could we know that Santana wouldn't like the songs?" she said with a shrug and I shook my head.

Then I spun around and glared at the Latina who had followed Rachel and me into the kitchen to help us carry the desserts out into the dining room. "You were in on this too, weren't you?" She just shrugged and took a sip of the wine glass she had brought with her into the kitchen.

"God, I can't believe you did this!" I sighed heavily and took a large silver tray out of one of the cupboards.

"We just want what's best for you, Quinn," Rachel said softly and I rolled my eyes again. How could she know what's best for me when_ I_ don't even know what's best for me?

"Guppy Face and you are bound to happen . . . Again. You're like magnets, you gravitate towards each other. It's been like that since you first laid eyes on each other. It kind of grosses me out seeing all of that sexual tension—" I tried to interrupt her, but she clamped her hand over my mouth and just continued. "I hate to admit it—and if you ever tell anyone else I said it, I'll end you, Barbie—but you're actually kinda cute together. Way better than you and Lumps the Clown."

Rachel shot her a sharp glare.

"Oh, come on, Dwarf. You can't deny the fact that your 'man' looks like a moldy potato sack with Mongolian eyes."

"Is Finn mentally handicapped?" Brittany asked innocently, a hint of worry and confusion lacing her words, as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Yeah."

"No," Rachel said and glared at the raven haired woman.

"Santana," I said sternly and the Latina rolled her eyes.

"Brittany, the word you are thinking of is _Mongol_. It is an old term for Downs Syndrome. It is rarely used any longer though," Rachel pedagogically informed while searching for the whipped cream she bought for tonight. "And, no, Finn is not . . . He doesn't have Downs Syndrome. He is just—God damn it! Finn! Finn, where's the whipped cream?" she screamed and I am pretty sure my eardrum burst right then.

"What?" came the response after a while. "I can't hear you."

"Finn Hudson, get your ass in here!" Rachel ordered and as soon as the tall brown haired man entered the kitchen she placed her hands on her hips in typical Rachel Berry manner. "Where is the whipped cream I bought yesterday, honey?" she said sternly.

"Uh, in the trash, I think," the tall brown haired man said sheepishly and rubbed his neck.

"And why is it in the trash, honey?"

He blinked slowly and then mumbled, "Uh, I kinda got a little hungry."

"Mm-hm. And you didn't think of getting one of those sixty-eight chocolate-coated marshmallow treats you have stored in the fridge in the basement?"

"Uh—"

"Why did you even buy them?"

"They taste good."

"Okay, I think it's time to serve the dessert," I chimed in and stepped in between Finn and Rachel, just as the short diva was about to add something to their argument.

"Oh, you're such a party pooper, Q. I was looking forward to a full-blown Finchel throwdown," Santana whined and hopped off the kitchen island.

I rolled my eyes, of course she was.

* * *

After the dessert we ended up down at Rockefeller Center. I don't know exactly whose idea it was to go ice skating, but I am guessing on Blaine or Sam, the latter had been begging me to go with him to an ice skating rink for a little over three weeks now, ever since it started snowing. Nevertheless, it was a good idea!

I like to skate. Two winters of my childhood was devoted to figure skating, though not many of my friends know about that. It was years before I went to William McKinley High. But to say that I was good, especially in the company of Puck, Sam and Blaine who seemed to have been born with skates on their feet, would have been an overstatement.

"Seriously, Sam, is there anything you _can't _do?" Rachel exclaimed excitedly as she watched the blonde skate out into the center of the ice. It looked so easy, so natural, and, well, I guess the short brunette wasn't the only one who was impressed.

"Yep, reading, writing, spelling and finding a girl who won't cheat on him."

"Santana!" Rachel hissed and shot the Latina a death glare, happy that Sam was out of earshot.

The raven haired woman just shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just being honest, Dwarf. Seriously, I'm surprised he wasn't held back a year. Or two."

"Sam is not stupid!" I replied a little too quickly.

"Defending your man, how freakin' charming."

I turned my stare to the frozen ground in front of my feet while I felt my ears heat up.

"What is wrong with you, Santana?" Rachel half-whispered half-yelled, her forehead in deep creases and her lips pressed together into a thin line. "I thought you had stopped insulting people. At least those who are considered your friends."

The Latina glared at Rachel for a short moment before she averted her gaze and bent down to tie her skates.

I was confused. Santana had seemed so happy the last couple of weeks. Then it hit me; she has said it herself, she is a bitch when she is angry and, as I have noticed, also when she is nervous.

"Are you going to ask her tonight?" I questioned quietly and the Latina stared at me for a short moment before she slowly shook her head. "But that was the initial plan, wasn't it?" Santana sighed and nodded. Meanwhile Rachel just stood there and watched us in confusion. Fortunately she remained silent, I don't think Santana would have appreciated if the short diva had started asking a bunch of question right then and there.

I nodded slowly, though I am not quite sure what for. "What changed your mind?"

The Latina squirmed awkwardly before finally answering. "What if she says no?" she mumbled almost inaudibly and out of the corner of my eyes I could see how Rachel's jaw dropped, 'Oh my God!' the short brunette whispered before she covered her mouth with her mitten clad hand.

The possibility of a rejection was pondered for a short while before I slowly shook my head. I placed a supportive hand on the raven haired woman's shoulder and gave her my sincerest and warmest smile. "I think we both know that she won't." Santana peered up at me from under long black lashes and I nodded my head as if to try and further convince my friend that I was right.

After a while I felt her body relaxing under my hand and she gave me a tiny smile. "So New Year's Eve then?" I queered and she bit down on her bottom lip before she shyly nodded.

By the time I removed my hand from Santana's shoulder Rachel positioned herself in front of the Latina and me and placed her hands on her hips in typical Rachel Berry manner. "Okay, so what have I missed here? You know very well I do not like to be sidelined," she said though I'm sure she had already had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

"You will find out soon enough," I calmly said before Santana had time to reply. The short brunette furrowed her dark brows and puffed out her bottom lip. "Ah, you know that won't work on me, Barbra. Come on, tie those pretty white skates so we can get out there with the others."

Reluctantly Rachel sat down on the bench beside me and grabbed the loose laces. At the same time Puck, Finn and Sam skated up to where we were seated and _of course_ Puckerman had to hockey stop right in front of us and spray snow and ice all over us. Beside him Finn and Sam snickered like two school girls.

So freaking mature. Seriously, how old are they? Nine?

"You play with death!" Santana faked angry while brushing snow from her red jacket. The comment got Finn to shut up but the other two young men laughed even harder and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"Do you need help, Rach?" Finn queered once his fiancée had finally finished tying her skates and was trying to take a few staggering _steps_. Because honestly you can't call what she did _skating_.

"Uh-uh. No, I am absolutely fine," came the brunette's response only seconds before her skates slid forward and her body tilted backwards. With a surprised shriek she hit the ice.

"Obviously," Santana mocked before gliding out onto the ice and into Brittany's open arms. The blonde had just reached us after having skated a few laps around the rink hand in hand with Kurt and Blaine, her favorite unicorns. She beamed at her girlfriend and carefully twirled her.

"I am just a tad rusty, that is all," Rachel tried to convince us, while Finn helped her back onto her unsteady feet. Behind him Puck and Sam chuckled in amusement.

"Maybe the caretaker has some duct tape we can borrow," Puck mumbled thoughtfully, that little twinkle in his eye suggesting he might be out to make fun of the wobbly Broadway star.

"What do you need the tape for?" Rachel asked, obviously not understanding the underlying meaning. "You cannot fix these darn skate blades with duct tape, you idiot." Finn had to steady her once again as she almost tipped backwards.

"No, but if we wrap it hard enough it might keep your ankles from turning inwards," the man with the Mohawk stated while giving Rachel's ankles a pointed glance. "I've gone ice skating with Evans' baby sister and she has straighter ankles than you and she's like four years old."

"Nine, almost ten," Sam corrected.

"No one asked you, Lady Lips," Puck responded and Sam rolled his eyes. "Point is Bambi looked like a freakin' pro compared to you."

"You're mean," Rachel muttered, though she failed to disguise the small smirk tugging the corner of her lips.

"Yeah, but you all love me," Puck stated before elbowing Sam lightly in the ribs. "Hey, dude, what about we give the ladies a little lesson on how to skate properly?" Before the blonde had time to respond Puck continued. "I'm not gonna miss out on an opportunity to mess with Berry so she's my trainee. She'll probably need something soft and porous to land on so Finn's with me too. Blaine can take Lady Hummel since they're practically inseparable and you, Evans, get Santana, Brittany and Quinn since you've already been with all three of them if you know what I mean."

The blonde's cheeks turned a deep shade of red before he began an incoherent ramble where he tried to explain that he had in fact never slept with any one of us.

Santana, Brittany and I looked at each other before we began to skate further out on the ice. None of us needed a beginners lesson on how to skate, we had all had some experience; I had done figure skating for two years, Santana had tried speed skating though she quit after only three weeks or something like that, and Brittany had played hockey for about half a season before she realized she liked ice racing a lot more – that's how she got into motocross by the way.

As I passed Sam I grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie and gave it a gentle tug. "I think we pass on the lesson, but you're welcome to keep us company," I said quietly and he smiled sweetly at me.

"Yeah? You think you're good? What kind of experience do you have of ice skating?" he teased, most likely unaware of my past as a figure skater.

While smirking I patted his shoulder and spun around so that I was skating backwards in front of him. "A lot more than you think," I said trying to sound more confident about my ice skating knowledge than I actually felt.

He arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really."

"Show me," he said and smirked at me.

"Isn't skating backwards enough for you? Look at Rachel, she can't even stand up for more than thirty seconds without Finn supporting her," I pointed out while continuing to skate in front of him. He shrugged. "What do you want me to do? Pirouettes?"

When he nodded and grinned I wanted to slam my head into a wall. I hadn't practiced figure skating since I was twelve, I couldn't do a pirouette now. Why the heck did I have to joke about that?

However, I'm quite stubborn, my parents used to point that out to me regularly, back when they still talked to me, _and_ I hate to lose. This was not a bet, I know that, but it was an opportunity to prove someone wrong, and I kind of have a thing for that.

The look on Sam's face when I mumbled a quiet 'okay' before turning around and taking a few quick strides away from him was priceless.

I increased the speed of my skating before I took a deep breath, all the worst case scenarios being playing over and over in my head. What if I didn't have enough speed? What if I didn't manage to jump high enough? What if I wouldn't land properly?

I jumped, twirled and to all of our but probably mostly my own surprise I nailed the landing perfectly.

"Wow!" Brittany squealed and skated over to me, while a majority of the others just stood there with their mouths hanging open. "That was amazing, Quinn! You've gotta teach me how to do that!" the tall blonde said excitedly before hugging me tightly.

Eventually Brittany let go of me and Puck skated past me and slapped me on the ass. "That was kinda hot, Baby Mama," he teased and I rolled my eyes. It was so typical Puck . . .

When the young Jewish man had skated back to where Finn was still trying to teach Rachel how to keep her ankles from turning inwards Sam slowly came up to me. "I guess I owe you now," he said with a smile on his face.

I blinked surprised but soon covered it with a small smile. "Owe me? I didn't know it was a bet."

"I thought that was implicit."

"In that case," I mused aloud while pursing my lips in thought, "you pay for my taxi home tonight."

He laughed heartedly. "Deal."

* * *

Despite Rachel's vivid objections I left Finn and her house at some point shortly before two in the morning. Poor Finn almost had to use force to bend his fiancée's thin arms from around my neck. Did I tell you that she _really_ likes hugging, even more so when she's had a few eggnogs too many?

I did not leave alone though, which was something several of my old friends pointed out when we said our goodbyes, Santana probably being the least subtle. No surprise there.

"Try to contain yourself until you get to his apartment at least. There are some creepy-ass cab drivers in this city. Don't want pictures of Grouper Mouth and you getting it on in the back of a taxi to end up on Google, or worse, YouTube."

I rolled my eyes annoyed while Sam blushed hard. "Bye Santana. I love you too," I said before tugging at the tall blonde man's coat sleeve. "The cab is here."

"So what did you think of today?" he tried to make conversation as we sat in the back of the yellow taxi. I averted my gaze from the passing lampposts outside the window and glanced at him. He kept his eyes fixed on where he was tugging at a loose thread in his coat sleeve.

I smiled. "It was different," I mused aloud then added, "but very nice," as he sent me a curious glance. "I have spent the last three Christmases with a few people I met while studying at Yale. You have met one of them; you remember Landon, right? We are all sort of familyless." I managed a quiet chuckle. "Is that even a word?" He shrugged and smiled at me with a sad look in his eyes.

We grew quiet for a short while, but it wasn't the uncomfortable silence I would normally feel around other people. That was one of the things I loved about Sam. Everything was so easy with him.

"You're not familyless," he said quietly after some time and the sudden sound of his smooth voice startled me. My eyes had been locked on the head rest in front of me where a four centimeter tear revealed beige foam. Meanwhile my mind had been far, far away, somewhere in Lima.

"What?"

"I said that you're not familyless." He glanced at me, held my confused gaze for a split second before he let his ocean colored orbs wander back to where he was pulling at a loose thread in his coat sleeve. It needed to be fastened properly or he would most likely ruin the cuff soon. "You're not alone. You'll never be alone."

"Sam—" I tried.

"You've got Finn and Rachel. Kurt and Blaine. Santana and Brittany. Mike and Tina. Artie, Puck and Mercedes." He licked his lips. "You'll always have me. We're your family now." I turned my head to look at him, but he kept his eyes locked on his hands.

Gently I moved my own hand and placed it on his forearm. He threw a quick glance in my direction before averting his gaze. "Sam, what is going on?" I queered, because I couldn't ignore it anymore. There was a distinct change in behavior on his part. When at the ice skating rink he had seemed so happy, so carefree, but sitting next to me in the taxi he looked nothing but carefree and happy.

He licked his lips and his nostrils flared slightly. I recognized that face. "Mom called, while you were putting on your coat. Grandpa is in a poor condition." I covered my mouth with my hand and watched Sam turn his face towards the window.

Even though I had never met Sam's grandfather, or even heard really him talk about him before, it felt like someone just punched the air out of my lungs and I can only imagine what it must have felt like for Sam hearing the news from his mother, on Christmas Day.

"I-I'm so sorry, Sam," I managed after a few painfully long seconds and the only response I got from the blonde was a weak nod. Slowly I let my hand slide down his forearm until it reached his warm hand, my fingers tenderly brushing over his knuckles before I intertwined my slim fingers with his.

He didn't flinch or even give my hand a light squeeze; it was as if he hadn't noticed at all. I reached down with my other hand and unbuckled my seatbelt, he did give me a curious glance when he heard the light click, but he said nothing as I scooted closer to him and leaned my head against his shoulder in what I hoped was at least a little consoling.

I fell asleep like that, securely leaning into him, our fingers laced together. His chin was resting lightly on my head and I swear that if I hadn't been drifting off to sleep I would say that he kissed my hair before I felt a tear land on my exposed arm.

* * *

Author's note,

I'm not going crazy, posting a Christmas chapter in the middle of the summer. LOL. I actually wrote the outline for this particular chapter on Christmas Eve—it was originally intended as a one-shot—but I felt it fit so well with this storyline that I decided to include it in this story instead.

And I just want to let you know that I don't hold a grudge against Finn in any kind of way, making Rachel and Santana nag at/insult him so much. I love the character of Finn Hudson, he's hilarious! He's the reason I got so hooked on _Glee _in the first place :)

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)

**FabrevansXOXOBrittana**: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked it! :)

**Ashley:** I hope the kiss lived up to your expectations even though it didn't happen 'naturally' so to speak. It wouldn't surprise me though if Santana, Rachel and Kurt did something similar on the show, you know; set Quinn up with one of her exes because they don't like the idea of her dating her Yale professor. Santana is quite experienced when it comes to interfering with other people's relationships. LOL. Wouldn't that be quite a good way to get Fabrevans back on? ;)

**RJRRAA:** Thank you for reading and reviewing, it means a lot! Well, Quinn's dad has proved to quite an asshole throwing Quinn out and cheating on Judy, so I guess, with a little alcohol in his system, him hitting Quinn isn't too far of a stretch? Luckily, Quinn's got some really awesome friends ;)

**SamEvans17:** To your defense FanFiction has been acting weird the past few weeks ;) I'm glad you liked Chapter 11, it is probably one of my favorite chapters so far – I had so much fun writing it!

It would just have been weird if he had gotten into the tub all naked with his ex-girlfriend after what had just happened, even though that was what he made her think. Like you said, "he's too Sam" to do that :)


	14. Chapter 14

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Include Faberry-friendship and the Unholy Trinity.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The rating may change to M in later chapters. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters from the hit show will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel, Finn and Santana.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

End of author's note and now on to the story, but don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

_Chapter 14_

It was New Year's Eve, the last day of the year and we showed up at the appointed address dressed to the nines. It was the result of a promise I had made Santana some time ago while she was here visiting, but, until now, we hadn't managed to find a date when all three of us, Brittany, her and I, were available.

That was until Britt-Britt came up with the brilliant idea that we spend New Year's Eve together. Of course Rachel found out about it and insisted we should expand it from the Unholy Trinity to the entire Glee Club, or at least those who were in the area.

What Rachel wants, Rachel gets, I guess.

And if Rachel wants a party there is no one better to bring along than Santana Lopez. Because when Santana says she wants to get her partying on, she really means it.

"Hey, Teen Mom, get your perfect little booty over here!" Santana called from the dance floor where she was currently pressed up against a tall and well-built guy with short brown hair. He looked pretty content as the raven haired woman moved her fit body in time with the music.

If only he knew that Santana was one hundred percent off the market and, well, gay.

I smirked at the sight of my childhood friend enjoying herself and out of the corner of my eye I caught Brittany dancing with Puckerman.

I shook my head. "No," I called back and smiled. I was fine sitting by the bar.

Barely two minutes passed before a familiar voice addressed me, the words slightly slurred. "What can I get a fine lady like you?"

"Landon," I said, swiveling around on my chair, "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the counter. "Celebrating the New Year?" He flashed me a grin before he turned to the bartender. "A Screwdriver for me—Quinn, what do you want?" he asked, straightening and placing a light hand on my lower back.

"I'm good, thanks."

"Yeah, right," he mumbled before turning back to the bartender again, his hand sliding even lower down my back as he leaned over the counter. "One Tequila Sunrise for my lovely friend Quinn."

"Landon—"

He whipped his head back around to face me and a grin spread on his lips. "You just need to loosen up a bit, Quinnie. Have fun. Drink with me."

His breath reeked of alcohol.

"I don't think she wants anything, dude."

I spun my head around and found Sam standing behind me. I don't know exactly when he walked up to us, but he damn sure hadn't been there half a minute ago.

The brown haired man chuckled. "Bullshit! Of course she does." He winked at me before dropping his hand from my back to lean it on the counter top again.

Good choice, I though as his body seemed to tilt backwards then to the left before he finally regained some balance.

"I think she would have said so if that had been the case," the blonde argued and positioned himself slightly in front of me as if Landon portrayed some kind of threat to me.

Landon arched an eyebrow. "Dude, don't come here and act like you know her better than I do. I don't give a fuck if you two dated for a week in high school. It was a long time ago, means nothing now. Right Quinnie? I'm the one who's been there to watch her really grow up. Help her prepare for exams, hold her when she cries to Titanic, walk her home from parties when we've both been too drunk to drive, that shit, you know?"

I chose that moment to interfere. Landon had obviously had a little too much to drink already, otherwise he would never have said any of those things, and the last thing I wanted was Sam and him to fight over me, though I have to admit that thought made something stir deep inside of me.

I took one quick step forward and positioned myself between the two alpha males.

"It's okay, Sam," I said quietly and placed a hand against his chest as if to prevent him from moving closer to Landon. Then I turned to the brown haired man. "Thanks for the offer, Landon. But I think I'll pass on it tonight, okay? I'd like to be sober enough to remember tonight and I think you may need to cut down on the drinking if you want to remember anything of this tomorrow as well."

Landon pressed his lips together and he stared over my shoulder at Sam. Then he dropped his gaze to me, his eyes immediately softening and I recognized the real Landon, my Landon, the guy that had become one of my best friends over the past four years.

After a while he gave a half-nod and placed the drink he had just been handed by the bartender on the counter. "I'm sorry, Quinn," he whispered under his breath before he tuned to Sam, gave him a glare and left.

At first the blonde just stood there and stared as Landon walked away, but after a while he lent towards me and gently touched my arm. "You okay?" he whispered in my ear as Landon disappeared in the crowd.

I nodded quickly and gave Sam a little smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "Thank you though, for standing up for me."

In all honesty, he had not really needed to do it. Landon was one of my closest friends, he respected me and he could take a 'no'. Okay, he was drunk and maybe he would have needed a couple of 'no's, but he would have backed off eventually. It felt kind of good though that Sam had interrupted and stood up for me, I couldn't deny that.

He just nodded.

I chewed my bottom lip for a moment. "He's just lonely," I said after a while.

"Huh?"

"Landon," I said, "he's lonely."

Sam gave me a look, telling me 'that's still no excuse for his behavior'.

"He lost his family. His friends are all he's got." I said, dropping my gaze. "He'd never do anything to me. He's just a little . . . territorial."

Sam glared out over the crowd, half-expecting to find Landon leering at him from across the room, but he didn't.

"Friends," he mumbled and I nodded. "That look in his eye." He shook his head. "I know that look."

"Sam?"

He turned his head and stared right at me.

"Yeah?"

"Let it go," I said and after a while he nodded.

I smiled. "Thank you."

He smiled back at me and I had to bite down on my lip to keep the blush from stretching across my cheeks when he absentmindedly dropped a chaste kiss on my cheek before saying something about needing to go find Puckerman before he got himself thrown out for hitting on the female bartender.

As soon as Sam where out of hearing distance Santana strutted up to me. "God, the sexual tension!" she sighed loudly and I almost wanted to cover her mouth with my hand.

"Ah, come on! Earth to Fabray! Hello! Lady Face were practically impregnating you with his stare alone," Santana said with a pointed look towards were Sam where now standing with Puck and Finn. The tallest of the three men appeared to be the one leading the conversation as he gestured wildly while Puck occasionally nodded and furrowed his brows, pretending to listen as he kept an eye on the blonde bartender.

"Wha—" My ears began to heat up immediately and I sucked my lips in between my teeth.

Santana rolled her eyes and gave me a light push which almost caused me to fall of the stool. "Come on," she said, "It seriously looked like he was gonna rip that sleazeball's head off!"

I rolled my eyes. "That 'sleazeball' is my colleague and friend. And he has a name."

"Whatever," she said with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. "Point is: Trouty's got it bad for you."

I shook my head and she sighed.

"Come on! Ask him for a dance, because he sure as hell won't come here and ask you to dance with him. You kind of broke his balls in junior year."

I quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Dudes have their hearts located in their balls . . . and their brain too, obviously. That's why all men are so damn stupid. Just like all human beings they're clumsy as hell when they're kids and because they're male they're extraordinarily clumsy. Frankenteen is a perfect example. Anyways, they tightrope walk on a fence or something, they fall, straddle the fence and their balls take one hell of a blow. And ta-da, their 'brains' are damaged for the rest of their lives."

I couldn't help but snicker. Really Santana?

The Latina shrugged, grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the dance floor.

* * *

"I still can't believe we're actually here!" Tina screamed in order to overpower the loud music. Rachel, her and I had retreated to an empty table a few minutes ago to rest our aching feet. What was it my mother always used to preach . . . 'No pain, no gain.'

Beside me Rachel snickered. "It pays off to have an uprising movie star, two Broadway performers, one professional athlete and a famous fashion designer among your friends," she said with a certain amount of typical Rachel Berry pride to her voice.

I rolled my eyes. She probably had the right to brag a little—she fulfilled her dream of becoming a Broadway performer against all odds—but for those who know Rachel Berry and especially for those who knew her before she grew up and had to face a few setbacks know how over-confident she can become.

"Yeah, yeah. In a few years when Tina is the most coveted defense attorney on the East Coast, we'll all be introducing ourselves as 'friend of top DA Ms. Cohen-Chang," I mumbled and Tina brought her hand to her face to hide the blush on her cheeks.

Rachel smiled. "Yes, you are probably correct, Quinn. Perhaps I will have to ask her for advice on how to deal with JBI."

The smile on my face dropped like the ratings for _CSI_ after Gil Grissom left. "I thought he had given up following you."

Suddenly I was worried. JBI was short for Jacob Ben Israel, the school gossip that had developed a crush on Rachel in high school. We had all thought that his persistent attempts at getting Rachel to notice him would stop when she moved to New York and especially after she announced her re-engagement to Finn almost a year ago.

The petite brunette fingered the golden band that wrapped around her ring finger absentmindedly. "That is exactly what I thought too, Quinn, but then I spotted him after rehearsal one afternoon. The next day he showed up outside the gym as I exited. I thought I smelled his unwashed Jewfro at my driveway yesterday, but I never saw him."

"You have to report him," I said while scrunching my nose at the thought of the gossip's peculiar scent.

"I'm afraid the police won't be of much help unless he has hurt or threatened you or your property," Tina said to Rachel sadly.

"He has not. He has never showed any signs of becoming violent. He is your standard reporter, who happened to be very fond of me when we were younger."

"He broke into your gym locker and stole your panties, Rachel. He's obsessed with you," I added.

"He is persistent, but he is innocent and to a certain degree his behavior is a tad flattering," the short brunette admitted sheepishly. "Oh, don't give me that look, Quinn!"

I sighed and rolled my eyes while Tina just shook her head. "You're crazy."

A long speech explaining how she was_ not_ crazy and how a so called crazy person could be defined was to be expected, so it surprised me when the petite diva just smiled and said, "Maybe I am a little insane."

"That just proved it," Tina said and all three of us burst into laughter.

"Speaking of insane, here comes Satan," Tina mumbled and I automatically whipped my head around to see for myself and, sure, there was the Latina, walking straight towards us, her tight blood red bodycon dress was stretching over her thighs as she walked up to us.

"I'm not wearing anything other than Crocks for the coming five days. Hot pink fucking Crocks! I don't give a damn if they're the unsexiest things in the entire universe," the Latina sighed as she ungracefully flopped down on a stool beside me.

"Sore feet?"

"No, I've got a fucking splinter in my finger," she retorted. "Why aren't you dancing?"

I glanced at the Latina and I was just about to tell her that I had just taken a short pause when she continued.

"Waiting for _him_, aren't you?"

"No," I shook my head and she rolled her eyes annoyed.

"Seriously Q, we had this talk like . . . an hour ago?" Rachel and Tina stared at us with great curiosity. "Do you know how pathetic the two of you look? Why don't you just kiss already and get it over with!" Santana said and threw her hands in the air. Beside me, Rachel smirked over the rim of her glass.

Traitor.

"I'm not—He, we aren't . . ." I tried to explain, but kept tripping over my own words. "What Sam and I once shared died in high school."

"Really?" the raven haired woman arched a skeptic eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting you two are about as over each other as Asian number one and Asian number two, and we all know they're secretly screwing as rabbits during Asian Camp each year even though they always claim they're _just_ _friends_."

Opposite me Tina almost choked on her drink and Rachel had to cross over to her side of the table and pat her on the back.

I thought about what Santana had said for a short moment. Tina and Mike still volunteered as leaders for Asian Camp each year and every time they got back from camp they seemed a lot happier. Perhaps Santana was right about them . . .

However, she was dead wrong when it came to Sam and me. I had loved him once, maybe even been in love with him, and he had felt the same about me, I think, but I ruined all that when I cheated on him with Finn. I knew that he could not possibly fall in love with me again, not after how I had hurt him. So what use was there in exploring the feelings I may or may not have for him if I knew they could not ever be returned?

"Santana," I said in a calm low voice. "You rememb—"

She cut me off. "I would like to say that he is lousy in bed, and that you're wasting your time, but then I would be lying." My eyebrows furrowed. "No, Q, I never slept with Fish Face. Even though I wouldn't have turned down a chance to have that abulous body rocking on top of me while his full lips were nibbling at my pulse point. But I can say that he cannot possibly be worse in bed than Lumps the Clown."

"Oh my God, Santana!" I hissed and clasped a hand over her mouth, my face so red I could have been confused with Hellboy's daughter, if he had had one, and if I had had a pair of sawn-off horns on my forehead.

"Finn's not . . . he's not _that_ bad," Rachel mumbled quietly, feeling the need to defend her husband-to-be. "That is a mean thing to say, Santana."

"Totally," Tina chimed in, who had regained her breath again.

"Oh, for Goodness sake, I'm just giving you the truth here. Take a look at that klutz!" she said and gestured towards the dance floor. The former McKinley High Titans' quarterback was showing off his _best_ dance moves. And every time he gave the body roll a try I for some reason always thought about a plump woman in yellow spandex singing,

_Watch out for my body rolls  
Watch out for my body rolls  
High kicks, high kicks  
This is how we do it_

* * *

"Hey," a familiar voice whispered in my ear before silky blonde hair came into view.

"Hey," I replied and smirked while my right hand automatically shot out to grab the tequila glass in front of me, just to have something to occupy it with. The 'no more alcohol for me tonight' having been thrown out the window already and it wasn't even midnight yet.

"You are obviously not the assigned driver for tonight," he stated and nodded towards the glass in my hand. "So why aren't you up there dancing your beautiful butt off like your friends?"

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Did you just admit to thinking my ass looks hot?" I teased and let my index finger trace the rim of the tequila glass. My cheeks were beginning to heat up, but I tried not to think about it.

He chuckled and leaned in closer to me. "It might have subconsciously left my lips, yeah." His warm breath tickled my exposed neck and sent small electric impulses down my spine.

Since when did Sam and I flirt like this? Puck's usually the only guy brave enough to try.

"You're drunk, Sam," I tried to stifle a laugh, but failed brutally.

"So are you," he reasoned and glanced at my tequila glass.

"Dance with me," he said, grabbed my hand and let his fingers intertwine with mine. I blushed and shook my head while I gazed down at the counter top from under long black lashes.

Suddenly I felt his other hand move up to touch my chin. Gently he tilted my head upwards until I was gazing into his mesmerizing ocean green orbs. He was giving me the puppy-dog eyes, the son of a bitch. No one can say no to those innocent green blue twin pools.

The next thing I knew I was letting him pull me onto my feet, my small hand fitting seemingly perfect in his larger one. My half-empty tequila glass was abandoned as he led me towards the crowded dance floor.

He put his free hand on my hip and pulled me closer to him. Around us Santana, Brittany, Blaine, Tina, Kurt, Rachel and Finn were dancing like there was no tomorrow.

"I don't think this is how you're supposed to dance to this kind of music," I giggled as he spun me around slowly. The speakers were pouring out Swedish House Mafia even though the group seized to exist almost half a decade ago and for a second I contemplated where in the name of God they found these old tracks.

He glanced down at me, his eyes twinkling slightly and the most adorable smirk plastered on his face. "I don't care," he mumbled while his eye broke their contact with mine and traveled down to my mouth, then slowly back up again. "You look beautiful," he breathed.

Even though I knew that the kiss between Sam and me on Christmas Day meant nothing, I still couldn't get it out of my head. It had been subtle, completely platonic. Santana and I have shared kisses considerably more intimate than that one, though only when we've been completely wasted and there were no boys around, at least that was my excuse. Thinking about it now, maybe Santana wasn't half as drunk as I thought she was . . .

Nevertheless, this was Sam and no matter how much I tried to convince myself that he was nothing but a friend to me, my heart seemed to be unable to forget what him and I once shared, or maybe what it hoped we _still_ share.

Around us people began to move in the direction of the large balcony. Midnight was closing in and no one wanted to miss when the sky exploded into a million different colors. Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the door, I'm guessing on Rachel but I'm not sure. With his fingers still intertwined with mine Sam followed us out onto the large balcony.

When we reached the balcony the night sky was already filled with a vague hint of black powder. I hadn't noticed the colorful explosions while inside due to the loud music, but the smell that now tickled my nose was unmistakable.

It was a starlit night; bright stars could be spotted through the thin film of black powder that hung in the air just above the rooftops, in other words perfect for New Year's Eve with all its fireworks.

I didn't realize I was still holding Sam's hand until a particularly loud firework exploded across the sky and made me jump and squeeze his hand a little too hard.

An amused smirk spread across the blonde man's face. "Scared much?" he teased.

I whacked him on the arm with my free hand.

"Ouch!"

"You asked for it!" came my response.

He laughed and gave my hand a sharp tug so that I stumbled towards him. I yelped in surprise, causing the people closest to us to glance sideways at me. Had it not been for the fact that he caught me in his arms I would probably have fallen over in the sky-high Louboutin heels Kurt had given me for my last birthday.

I shot him an angry look, but felt my features soften at the sight of the adorable lopsided grin he had plastered on his boyish face. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and those cute dimples just make it impossible to stay mad at him.

"Have you thought of a New Year's resolution yet?" he half-whispered into my ear and a shiver ran through my body as his warm breath ghosted over the exposed skin on my neck.

'No,' I mouthed and slowly shook my head. New Year's resolutions were something I had given up on a long time ago. They tend to be impossible to keep or fulfill anyway, so why bother with them?

"You better hurry then, 'cause you've got about . . ." he shot a quick look at his wrist watch, "three minutes left to come up with one."

I snorted and rolled my eyes, and then I let my gaze sweep over the others that had gathered out on the balcony. There were about equally as many women as men and most of them were in their twenties and thirties, though I did spot one or two who undoubtedly had passed forty by a few years, probably on the prowl to find a young date to take home later at night.

I sighed, because I realized that I belonged to the minority who didn't spend New Year's Eve with a date whether it'd be their partner or someone they picked up earlier during the night.

People prepared themselves to begin the countdown when Sam's arms tentatively slid around my waist from behind. He had most likely noticed the sad look on my face as I had scanned the surroundings to find all of my girlfriends in the arms of their significant others, or in Tina's case some random guy she met on the dance floor. Nevertheless, they seemed very happy and they all had someone to share that very special New Year's Eve kiss with.

I half expected Sam to mumble something stupid along the line of 'Why the sad face?', but he didn't. Thankfully. I didn't feel like sharing my rather pathetic little problems with the guy who got cheated on _twice_, lost his home and was diagnosed with dyslexia.

Instead I felt his chin rest against my hair and his arms wrap tighter around my waist.

"_Ten, nine, eight!"_ People around us began to count down the remaining seconds of the year. Against my back I could feel the steady beating of his heart through his toned chest. The slow and familiar rhythm was extremely soothing and made me repress the disheartened thoughts that had previously occupied my mind.

"You look beautiful," he whispered in my ear for the second time that night.

I turned in his arms to glance at him and he smiled softly down at me. He had that twinkle in his eyes that I hadn't seen in a while. It was one of those things I noticed in him when he brought me to the Astronomy room the first time. Frankly I believe that little twinkle, that tiny sparkle of light, was one of the things that made me retract when he tried to kiss me halfway through our rehearsal of _Lucky_. There was so much emotion in them, feelings I was afraid of giving in to. There were desire and need in those emerald twin pools.

"_Seven, six!"_

A little smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he observed my confound expression. In one smooth movement he brought his calloused hand up to brush a strand of hair from my eyes. The slightly rough yet smooth skin of his hand felt awfully nice against my cheek as he gently cupped my face. His faintly alcohol tinged breath tickled my face as he gazed down at me from under his unruly blonde bangs.

Around us people chanted, "_Five, four!"_

His full lips felt warm and soft as they brushed against mine. The taste of him was so exotic yet familiar, like it was only yesterday we danced at Burt and Carole's wedding and he pulled me in for a slow and passionate kiss. For a split second I missed those days . . .

"_Three, two, one!"_

He broke our smooch only momentarily to whisper quietly against my lips.

"Happy New Year."

* * *

Author's note,

Well, I'm not perfectly satisfied with this chapter, but I think it's kind of necessary for the plot. I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway and that you liked the second first 'real' Fabrevans kiss, LOL.

As usual, I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, or the story in general! :)

Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, following and marking as 'favorite story'!

**I know that not everyone who follows this story has it on story alert so I thought I'd let you know that the rating on this story will most likely change to M pretty soon.**

**FabrevansInLove:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! I am flattered and I hope you liked this chapter as well.

I'm glad you like how I write Santana and Puck and that you think my versions of them are quiet similar to the ones on the show. While writing I always try to think "is this something this particular character would say or do on the show?" because I want them to be as close to the original ones as possible :)

You mentioned you're mother tongue is German and not English and you worried about your English so I just thought I would let you know that everything you wrote were perfectly comprehensible :) I'm actually _not_ a native speaker of English, but reading a lot has helped me improve my English a great deal.

Thank you again for reviewing! :)

**DMCC:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this story! It means a lot to me. I hope you liked the 'romantic moments' in this chapter and can I promise you that there will be a lot more moments like those in the next couple of chapters :)

**FabrevansXOXOBrittana:** Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed the Sam and Quinn sequences in this chapter: the playful banter and, most importantly, the 'real' kiss. Let me know what you think :)

**Ashley:** Hello there again! First and foremost I'd like to thank you for reading and reviewing! It really means a lot.

Secondly, I'm glad that you liked how I wrote their 'first' kiss. Now I just hope you liked their 'first _real'_ kiss too, LOL. Let me know what you think.

Finally, I can promise you that there will be more Sam and Quinn interaction in the upcoming chapters, hence why I'll probably be upgrading the story from T to M.

**SamEvans17:** Thank you so much! I am glad you enjoyed the chapter and that you liked the whole thing with the mistletoe. Kurt, Rachel and Santana can be real sneaky sometimes, LOL.

Concerning the spelling of New Zealand, you're absolutely correct. I'm so used to spelling it 'ee', because that's how we do it in my mother tongue, that I didn't even notice the mistake when I proofread the chapter, LOL. It's a good example of negative L1 transfer though; my professor in Second Language Acquisition would love to use that example ;)

**RJRRAA:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the kiss even though it was part of Rachel, Santana and Kurt's plan and not something that happened naturally. Rachel, Santana and Kurt make quite a good team though, don't they? What would be their portmanteau name? Humpezberry, Kurtanaberry, Pezberryhummel? LOL.


	15. Chapter 15

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn though when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The rating may change to M. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_. Most of the main characters will be mentioned in the story, but it focuses mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel and Finn. Faberry-friendship.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

Enjoy and don't forget that reviews are highly appreciated!

* * *

Aditional author's note,

Cory Monteith (11 May 1982 – 13 July 2013)

I am shocked and saddened by the news of Cory Monteith's death. He seemed like such a sweet and down to earth kind of guy. _Glee_ would definitely not be what it is today if it hadn't been for Cory. My heart aches for his family, Lea and his friends. You may be gone, but your memory will live on forever. Rest in peace, Cory.

* * *

_Chapter 15 _

"So have you talked to Sam yet?" Rachel asked and added some apple scented dish soap to the warm water. "You two truly seemed to enjoy each other's company last night," she murmured and shot me a pointed glance.

I rolled my eyes annoyed and sighed. "We just talked. Okay?"

Rachel shot me a 'yeah right'-look and I rolled my eyes again.

"We might have danced a little too, but come on. We were at a club. Everyone dances with everybody!"

The short brunette shook her head slowly, her lips curled into a smile. "Not everyone ends up exchanging saliva with their ex-boyfriend at a club. Their incredibly hot former professional athlete ex-boyfriend nevertheless."

"Jealous much?" I muttered under my breath and crossed my arms over my chest defensively. Suddenly the old HBIC-Quinn had taken over my body again.

"What?" Rachel stopped scrubbing the plate and turned her head towards me.

"We didn't kiss." Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly true, but it didn't mean anything, it was just a one-time thing. A light peck on the lips. A little too much alcohol, right? Or so I tried to tell myself.

From her position by the sink Rachel gave me a skeptical glance, but I pretended like I hadn't seen it and instead I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen island and polished its red peel until it glistened.

"I don't understand," Rachel said thoughtfully after a while, she had now moved on to scrubbing a large sauce pan. "Why do you keep denying the attraction between the two of you? It's obviously there, it always has been. To be honest, you two are a match made in heaven. You are both beautiful blondes and come from Christian families, Sam is a true Southern gentleman and I know for a fact that you're a real sucker for Dolly Parton."

"Rach—"

The short brunette dropped the sauce pan into the water and turned around to face me. "I just want what's best for you, Quinn. You have been through so much and what I want, what we all want, is for you to be truly happy. The last time I remember seeing you glow like this was when you danced down the aisle with him by your side during Burt and Carole's wedding."

"Rachel, please. I don't . . . Please, can we talk about something other than Sam and I?"

The petite brunette held my gaze for a long second before she slowly, reluctantly, nodded. "Yes, but do not for a second think that I will just forget about this conversation. We'll continue it later. Sam and you—"

"So who's riding who?" a voice came from behind me. I rolled my eyes. Santana was emerging from the stairs dressed in a white cotton robe and pink slippers, a mischievous smirk on her face.

I don't know how the hell Rachel did it, but somehow she had managed to convince Santana and Brittany to stay at Finn and her house while they were in New York.

"You know," I muttered and turned my back to her to position my elbows on the cold marble top that covered the large kitchen island, the apple still untouched in my hand, "as opposed to you I don't sleep with my friends." That one was cheap I know, but she really pissed me off sometimes. And the Brittany-thing had always been her Achilles' heel.

"Yeah?" Santana snorted and walked up to the fridge and pulled the door open. Eagerly she scanned the shelves for something edible even though she wasn't in her own house. "You gonna keep give us the 'we're just friends' shit? News update, Malibu Barbie; we ain't blind. You two were all over each other last night," Santana said and withdrew a carton of milk, a box of raspberries and one of blueberries, yoghurt and juice. She was going to make those delicious smoothies she used to make when we had sleepovers at her or my house when we were younger. Suddenly I was feeling very hungry.

I shook my head and made an attempt to interject, but I was effectively silenced by the raven haired girl pressing a slender finger against my lips. "And don't you even _try _to deny it, Blondie, 'cause Snixx here got it all on tape," she finished with a smug smirk.

"You what?" I gulped.

"Oh, you heard me, Tubbers!" the Latina laughed and poured the berries and the milk into the blender to mix it with the yoghurt and the juice. "Berry, you got any bananas and flaxseed?"

* * *

Of course Santana Lopez was lying.

I found out only because I secretly snatched her cell phone from her purse and searched it for 'video evidence'. She really needs to change her pass code. She would have killed me if she found out that I took her phone; especially if she knew that I had accidently stumbled across those pictures of Brittany and her from later that New Year's Eve night.

Perhaps Santana killing me didn't sound so bad after all. I didn't really want to live with those images on my mind for the rest of my life . . .

I shook my head violently to clear my head from images of Brittany in furry pink handcuffs and Santana in . . . well, nothing.

Think of ladybugs and kittens and rainbows and unicorns . . . No, not rainbows and unicorns. Damn it!

Luckily my phone saved me. It took me a little while to find it though, wedged between the pads on the couch.

Before I answered I checked the caller's ID.

A rush of fresh memories flooded my brain and a deep blush spread across my cheeks.

"Yeah," I said as pressed the device to my ear.

"Hey, uh, it's me. It's Sam. You obviously knew that though since it's my phone number and you've got it saved on your phone. Ehm, unless you didn't accidentally erase it and—"

I snickered. "You're making no sense, Sam."

"Eh, yeah, sorry! I was—Uh, I was thinking, maybe you'd like to . . ." He sighed heavily into the phone. "Okay, here it goes. Stacy's birthday is in a few days and they're all coming up here since I can't get away from work. And I bought her a little present but I thought it would be nice to get her favorite cake and all, you know. I've been looking everywhere but I can't find a single bakery in the city of New York that bakes that kind of cake. I guess I could special order it somewhere but it would probably take too long and—"

I cut him off. "Do you have the recipe?"

"Yeah, but the thing is I know nothing about cake-baking."

I smiled as I remembered his poor attempt at cooking Stevie, Stacy and me dinner once. I ended up ordering Pizza for us instead and he made the two little blondes promise never to tell mom and dad about the half-charred potatoes that he had forgotten on the stove. The small motel room smelled so bad we had to pull all the windows open. It was a mystery it didn't set off the fire alarm.

On the other end of the line Sam took a deep breath. "So, this will probably sound very stupid, but I guess I'm asking you to help me."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"I know it's stupid, but—"

"No, it's not, Sam," I said, drying the tears of laughter from my eyes. "I think it's adorable."

"You're not thinking about when—"

"Yeah."

"Oh." He grew quiet for a while and I almost thought he had hung up on me. But then I heard him breathe into the phone again. "So when should I pick you up?"

"Oh, don't bother, I have an appointment with my dentist at eleven and then Kurt and I are doing some shopping, I'll just ask him to drop me off at your place when we're finished. Around four, is that okay?"

"Four is perfect."

"Okay. See you then. Bye, Sam," I said, being unable to wipe the smile off my face.

"Bye, Q."

* * *

He smiled at me from across the kitchen island as I sat about picking out the things we'd need for the cake. Flour, sugar and baking powder were all easy to find, perched at the front in the cupboards, probably purchased exclusively for today, knowing Sam's food habits.

'Chicken, egg whites, fish (no salmon), oatmeal, brown rice but not after 6 PM, no butter or oil, and no soda . . .' I remember staring at him with wide eyes as he told me that during one of our first dates in junior year.

Diets were not something I was unfamiliar with; Coach Sylvester constantly gave directions on what to eat and, more importantly, what to stay away from when she noticed that someone had gained a pound or two. Strict diets and tough exercise gave me my pre-Beth body back.

Before I met Sam I had never heard of such a strict diet though, and I can't but admit that it did worry me a little.

As I pulled open his refrigerator I got a shock. With two fingers, in a tweezers-like grip, I carefully picked up the plate with what I believe had once been a sandwich, while scrunching my nose.

"Seriously, Sam?"

He smirked at me sheepishly.

"Did Finn let you inherit his damned Grilled Cheesus when Rachel moved in with him, or what?"

His smirk turned into a confused frown. "Grilled . . . Cheesus?"

Oh, Finn never told you about his magic sandwich? That's strange, why wouldn't he want to do that, it's not like it was completely and utterly insane to believe a piece of bread can have superhuman powers . . .

"Never mind, it was just yet another one of Finn's moments."

The blonde snickered and clasped his hands behind his head. "I think I'll have to ask him about that later."

"Yeah, you do that, Sam. But don't get your hopes up, I don't think he'll be very keen on talking about it," I smiled and tossed him an egg beater. Caught off guard he failed to catch it and the bake ware hit him square in the chest before landing in his lap.

"And don't you for a second think that I came here to bake you that damn cake by myself, you're helping, Evans, whether you want to or not."

Rolling his eyes and heaving a loud sigh of fake reluctance he grabbed the whisk and twirled it between his fingers as if it was one of Finn's drumsticks. "Whatever, Boss," he teased and just managed to dodge the wooden spoon I threw at him. "Shit, Quinn, I was only teasing you."

I gave him my most evil smirk. "You asked for it, Evans. Now get your lazy butt over here."

Like an old and loyal dog he came padding towards me with the egg beater at ready.

"You know how to whisk egg and sugar porous, right?" By the way his incredibly green eyes focused so intensely on me as if I was talking to him in a foreign language I gathered that he was as clueless as Brittney during an exam in mathematics.

Smiling at him kindly I gently pried the whisk from his grip and placed it in the yellowish batter. Swiftly I began to whisk it while I sneaked a glance up at him. I stopped and handed him the bowl and the egg beater and he flashed me a quick grin.

"Try not to spill too much," I said, only half-joking before I turned around and scooped the dark chocolate that I had already chopped. I placed the cocoa bean based ingredient in a water bath, before I turned on a second hob on which I placed a small sauce pan of butter.

I snuck a glance towards Sam to see how he was doing. He had been very quiet the past couple of minutes. He had his full lips sucked in between his teeth and a focused frown on his face. He remained an awful a lot of Stacy and Stevie when I helped them make gingerbread for Christmas in junior year. Frankly, it made my heart melt.

Sam flickered his gaze towards me and smiled as I caught his eye and held it for half a second. Something fluttered deep down in my stomach and I swiftly spun around to tend to the melting chocolate and butter.

The memories of last night were still way too fresh in my memory. I could practically still taste his lips on mine, and it wasn't exactly doing anything to help calm the butterflies that practiced loops, rolls, spins and probably even Cuban Eights and Immelmann's in my stomach.

The constant sound of friction between the plastic that was the bowl and the stainless steel that was the egg beater had somehow become a musical addition to the soft tune that was playing on the radio on the kitchen table.

"Q," Sam said and I automatically felt a tug at the corners of my mouth. I turned to face him blissfully unaware of his mischievous plan only to be greeted with a wet cold blob of batter on my nose.

What the . . .

Without hesitation, I pushed my hand deep into the bowl, coating my entire hand with batter, and threw it right at his face.

"Fuck. This means war, Fabray," he said sternly, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. Without warning he grabbed the plastic bowl in both his hands and emptied it over my head.

I shrieked when the cold off-white mixture of egg and sugar trickled down my face to drip off my chin and the tips of my hair. And I swear to God that every single one of his neighbors most have heard me, even the half-deaf old man with the equally ancient Jack Russell that lives on the second floor. Meanwhile, Sam just stood there smirking contently.

So you wanna play dirty, Evans? Well two can play that game.

Slowly I backed away from the tall blonde, only to stop when I felt the edge of the countertop against the small of my back. And like the stupid naïve innocent little guppy Sam is he swallowed it hook, line and sinker. He reduced the distance between us, his twin pools of green never once leaving my face.

Meanwhile I placed my hands on the countertop behind me, feeling the cold from the granite against my palms somehow calmed my speeding heart slightly.

He smirked contently, because from his point of view he had won; he had gotten me cornered with no more batter left to throw.

I sent him a look of defeat, because I knew he would buy it, while I let one of my hands travel further up the countertop until it reached a rectangular carton box and my fingers curled around one of the fragile oval items it held.

"Will you admit defeat?" he murmured and placed one of his calloused hands on the counter behind me. His mesmerizing gaze had yet to break their contact with mine.

I smirked then, because I knew I would walk out the winner.

Slowly I shook my head and watched him narrow his eyes, before I smashed the egg against the top of his head.

Before I could enjoy the sweetness of victory and declare myself the winner he had grabbed the bag of flour and dumped it over me. The white powder tickled my nose and dusted his front.

With my bottom lip trapped between my teeth I peered up at him through dusty eyelashes and he caught my eye. He grinned slightly, that all familiar twinkle in his eye, as he reached up and brushed a strand of dirty hair from my face.

His warm breath tickled my skin as he held me under his gorgeous green gaze and I felt my cheeks blushing even though he did nothing but look at me.

"Quinn," he breathed, his gaze flickering down to my mouth only momentarily. His tongue dipped out between his plump lips for a split second before he ran it over his bottom row of perfectly white teeth.

Then abruptly he shot away from me as if I had grown an extra pair of eyes. "Fuck, Quinn!" he exclaimed almost in panic and I felt my brows knitting together.

"Wha—"

"The stove!" he shouted and hastily pulled me away from the counter and away from the stove at the same moment a large flame rose from the boiling butter.

_Fuck._

Without hesitation Sam ripped his shirt off and started batting it against the growing flame. For a short moment I was paralyzed, I had never seen an uncontrolled fire like this—the purple piano doesn't count, it had been deliberately drenched in a flamboyant—and it scared me.

I was jerked out of my momentary petrification when, hurriedly, Sam ordered me to turn the hub off and hand him an oven mitten. He had put out the fire, but the butter was still boiling and splattering angry droplets all over the stove and a heavy smoke had filled the kitchen. He removed the sauce pan from the hub and placed it on a trivet on the sink before he turned the exhaust fan off. I had heard of houses burning to the ground due to flames rising into the exhaust fan and spreading through the ventilation system.

"Will you open the window Quinn?" he said while he gathered his ruined shirt, drenched it under the tap before tossing it in the trash.

I walked over to the window almost zombielike; we could have burnt down the whole apartment building. It was thoroughly bothering me. Sam most have noticed, because when I turned around to face him he gave me a small smile. "I told you I don't know how to bake."

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips and it took a lot of effort to resist the urge to roll my eyes. He alone wasn't responsible for the incident though.

"It's a good thing Stevie and Stacy forced me to watch _Chicago Fire _with them. I am fairly certain Stacy had a crush on the Kelly Severide character. I preferred Lieutenant Casey more though."

"Really" I said and arched an eyebrow. "He put out fires with his shirt too, only to get to flash some abs?"

Sam snorted. He was built like Adonis and he was fully aware of it. "Who wouldn't want to flash these babes?" He patted his ridiculously toned stomach.

This time I couldn't resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You could have used the kitchen towel, though." Sam stuck his tongue out at me and I slapped him playfully on the arm as I passed him. "Mature. I'm taking a shower. Got any extra clothes for me?"

A crooked grin snuck up on his face and no matter how much I try to tell myself that Sam is nothing like all the other men I've met, he still is male and like other men more than half of his brain is located in his penis.

When he hopped down from his position on the kitchen island I glanced over my shoulder and inwardly rolled my eyes.

"Alone."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I still hadn't gotten all of the batter and flour out of my hair. My scalp was sore and the long blonde strands tangled around my fingers as I tried to comb them through my hair.

If I was forced to cut it because of this, Sam was going to have to pay for the hairdresser. And that ain't cheap since Kurt won't let me go to anyone but the best, who apparently is some gay dude named Chandler Kiehl who he met at the sheet music store Between the Sheets in Lima.

As if Sam knew his name was on my mind, he knocked lightly on the bathroom door before entering. "I'm not looking," he said and I threw a quick glance over my shoulder to check if he was being honest. But it is genetically impossible for Sam Evans to lie so of course he was covering his eyes with his hand.

"I brought clothes for you. Are you done soon? You've been in here for like forever. I kind of need to shower too."

I sighed. "I can't get this mess out of my hair."

"You want me to help you?" he asked innocently.

"No."

"I'm not gonna look, okay?" he said softly. "You won't have any hair left if you're gonna continue like that."

A dejected sigh escaped my lips and I let my arms fall to my sides. My shoulders were sore after having had my arms in the air for too long. The transparent shower curtain rustled slightly as Sam pulled it aside.

Who has a transparent shower curtain by the way?

His long fingers felt good in my hair as they massaged my scalp carefully. The aloe vera scented foam from the shampoo cascaded down my back as he carefully rinsed my hair.

"Conditioner?" he mumbled quietly while he slowly ran his long fingers through my tousled hair. I handed him the white bottle and listened as he squeezed out a generous click into his hand.

"This feels nice," I mumbled when he gently massaged the conditioner into my hair.

I could hear in his voice that he was smiling when he next opened his mouth. "Really?" He brought the shower nozzle up to wash the conditioner out. "I've always thought Stacy was just saying that to be nice to me. You know, as thanks because I always let her use mom's bath foam even though mom said I couldn't."

A small laughed bubbled up through my throat. "She's got you wrapped around her finger."

He chuckled quietly and took a deep breath.

"I miss them."

More than three years had passed since I last saw the two youngest members of the Evans family. Their laughter echoed in my head as I closed my eyes and thought back to the last time I met them. It was before Sam and his family moved from Lima, he had asked me to help him babysit the two kids and we had taken them to the playground close to the family motel. I was pushing Stacy on the swings while Sam pushed Stevie.

"They have grown so much," Sam said with a hint of sadness in his voice. It was hard for him to be so far away from his family, especially after everything they have gone through together, and I know how much he wanted to be there for them at all time. But he had a life to live too. He couldn't devote all his time looking after them, even though he would have nothing against doing just that.

Sam pulled out a large bath towel and held it up for me.

"Stevie asked me about advice the other day. He said there is this girl in his English class that is really annoying. She keeps sending him glances all the time and bumps into him 'accidently on purpose' during gym class. He doesn't know what to do about her."

I stepped into Sam's arms and he wrapped the terry cloth around me.

"So what did you tell him?"

He rubbed my back through the towel absentmindedly while he thought about the Skype conversation he had had with his younger brother.

He shrugged. "That she was just being a girl and that young girls sometimes do a lot of strange things."

Like kissing their ex-boyfriend on New Year's Eve?

I snickered and reached up and brushed the blonde bangs out of his eyes. His hair was still coated in egg and sugar and he had a smear of flour on his cheek.

"She has a crush on him, Sam," I said and dropped my gaze to the floor as a light blush spread on my cheeks. "There is nothing strange with that."

The tall blonde frowned. "For an eleven year old boy that can be terrifying." Sam looked so grave I had to snicker. "I am serious, Q."

"I know, Sammy, and that's what's so amusing," I smiled and patted his toned chest, lightly. "Now, jump in the shower so that we can give the cake baking another shot." I stepped out of his arms and immediately missed the feeling of his muscular arms around my waste.

With the towel wrapped securely around me I made my way to the counter where he had placed the clothes for me.

He gave me a glance. "Do you really want to risk burning down the apartment again?"

I just rolled my eyes and exited the room.

* * *

Author's note,

I'm actually quite happy with how this chapter turned out and I really had a lot of fun writing it. Hopefully you enjoyed reading it too! Let me know what you think.

**RJRRAA:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! Usually I'm not that good with endings so I'm very glad to hear you liked it.

I actually wrote the chapter during the end of Season Three, I think. So I had no idea the writers were going to make Quinn and Santana hook up, which was quite cool. In this story Quinn and Santana kissed sometime early Season Two (before Sam and Quinn started dating) and they were both a little drunk. It was during the time that Santana was having the friends with benefits relationship with Brittany, so no, Santana and Brittany weren't really 'dating' yet. Brittany doesn't know about the kiss either.

I'm sorry if I've confused you with who's doing what. Santana is the "uprising movie star", Rachel and Blaine are the "two Broadway performers", Kurt is the "famous fashion designer", Tina is studying Law and working part-time as Kurt's personal assistant, Sam is the " 'professional' athlete" (he decided to end his career after the lockout I mentioned in Chapter 4, although he hasn't told anyone _why _ he quit yet. Rachel and the others often neglect to mention that he's no longer a professional because they think it sounds cool, LOL).

I want Mike and Tina to be dating too! They are adorable together. I can't believe they split them up on the show, because if there's any couple that had the potential of actually making it it was Mike and Tina. Hopefully they will reunite in Season Five, though I doubt that will happen considering Harry Shum Jr. is no longer a part of the regular cast.

Kurtanaberry rocks! I'm looking forward to seeing more of them in Season Five and Six, provided that Lea stays on Glee. With Cory gone maybe she doesn't feel like doing the show anymore. I mean, Cory was pretty much the heart of Glee.

**Ashley:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the real kiss as well even though I'm not that good at writing thorough descriptions of them. I'm upgrading the story from T to M next chapter, but don't expect it to get super smutty, because I don't really know how to write that. It'll get a little more detailed though, I can promise you that :)

To be honest I haven't had time to sit down and start working out a plot for an Overgron story yet, I've been so busy working with this one as well as writing outlines for three other upcoming Fabrevans/Puckelberry stories.

**DMCC:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter as well.

I try to write a short response to all reviews I get, because I think it shows the readers (and especially the reviewers) that their opinions matter. So if there's anything that you think doesn't add up, or something that's just confusing or something you'd really like to see happen later on in the story, just let me know and I'll take it into consideration :)

**SamEvans17:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! :) I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed the chapter, I was actually a little nervous about what people would think of it. It was probably the chapter I've had the most trouble writing so far, because I just couldn't figure out how to piece together the different parts.

Interesting to hear your thoughts on Landon. He and Quinn share a little bit of history together as I've already mentioned in a couple of chapters. He'll pop up later on in this story as well.


	16. Chapter 16

_Across These City Streets_

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The rating may change to M. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_ and it will focus mainly on Quinn, Sam, Rachel and Finn. Faberry and Quinntana-friendship.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

Enjoy and don't forget to review!

* * *

_Chapter 16_

It had never been my intention to end up exchanging saliva with Sam Evans on his living room couch. It just kind of happened. Rachel told me it was inevitable, when I called her right after I had left Sam's apartment. Maybe she was right, maybe it was destiny or fate or whatever or possibly just a huge mistake. I don't know.

All I know is that it's Stacy's fault. Kind of.

After we had finished with the cake—it had been sometime after midnight—Sam had driven me home. Before I had stepped out of the car he had brushed his fingers against my arm, barely touching the skin, and asked if I would come by the next day and meet Stacy and Stevie and his parents.

I truly missed the two little blond bundles of energy. On top of that he had given me those irresistible puppy-dog eyes.

So I showed up at his place just before two in the afternoon the day after and he opened the door to his apartment with a big smile on his face.

"God, I'm so excited!" he said in a bubbly voice that could easily rival Brittany's and crushed me against his broad chest.

"I can tell," I giggled as he let me loose while I inwardly groaned at the sudden loss of bodily contact.

"I haven't seen them in months. Do you think they will like what I've done with this place? I hope Stacy will appreciate the cake. Mom can't find out about the butter-accident, though. What do you think Stace will say about the present?" he gabbled and I widened my eyes at him, a smile creeping up on my face. Gee, he was really the master of rambling speeches.

"What's so funny?"

He stared at me with a confused look on his face.

I gave a short chuckle. "You should be a rapper, you know. Like the new Eminem, except cuter."

"Cuter?"

I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him, walking towards his living room couch. "But to answer your previous questions," I began. "She will think you are the best big brother ever to make her favorite cake for her birthday and I promise I won't tell your mother about the butter. You haven't told me yet what you have bought for Stacy, so I can't tell whether she'll like it or not. But knowing your baby sister she will probably love it! She adores you."

I paused to take a breath; meanwhile I let my eyes wander around the room. It hadn't occurred to me until now, but the walls were a harmonic shade of light green now. The first time I was here they had been blue.

"The room looks nice, Sam. I like the color." I was going to say that the color of the new wallpaper brought out the emerald in his eyes that I love so much, but I managed to bite my tongue before it slipped.

He chuckled and raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in all direction as if he'd just gotten out of bed.

I bit down on my bottom lip.

"Guess I was rambling again," he snorted a laugh. "I'm quite good at it. And you're supposed to stop me when I start doing it."

I smiled and rolled my eyes playfully. Why stop when he's so adorable?

"Now I'm not gonna tell you what I bought her."

"Sam," I said.

"Uh-uh. My lips are sealed," he said and closed an imaginary zipper on his mouth.

"Oh, come on!"

"Uh-uh."

"I helped you bake her birthday cake. I think you kind of owe me," I pointed out matter-of-factly.

"How's dinner at Gastro Bar Friday at seven-thirty?"

"Hey, don't change the subject!" I said and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"I didn't," he said with a smirk. "You like tapas, don't you?"

I stared at him. "Of course I like tapas," I said. "Now, tell me what you bought for Stacy."

"Nope," he said popping the 'p' loudly. He threw a glance at his wrist watch. "It's almost half past two anyway. You'll find out soon enough," he said with a shrug.

I sighed in defeat. Stubborn as a goddamned mule, that's what he is.

Then it hit me. "Sam, it's _half past two_," I said. "Didn't you say they would be here at three? Maybe it is time to set the table."

His ocean colored eyes widened in realization and he threw his watch another glance. Before I could say anything he took off in the direction of the kitchen.

God, he was going into overdrive. It was hilarious.

I walked into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. He was pulling out plates and glasses and spoons and placing them on the table. The cake had already been set in the center of the large table and sodas were waiting on the counter for the two children.

"Do you need help with anything?" I queered when I watched him throw a glance at his watch again.

At first he shook his head then he suddenly changed his mind and looked at me. "Actually, could you finish this? I need to come up with something to write in Stacy's birthday card."

I nodded and set myself about completing the table setting while he scurried out into his bedroom to retrieve the card and a silver pen. Less than thirty seconds later he returned to the kitchen and sank down on one of the bar stools by the kitchen island.

When I had finished setting the table I came over to him and peered over his shoulder. By the look on his face he was very focused on drawing balloons and stars around the text he had written.

"It is spelled with a 't' then an 'h'," I said quietly as I sat down on the stool beside him. He gave me a confused glance and I laid my left hand on his arm while I pointed with my right hand to the text he had written. "You have changed places on the 't' and the 'h'. It says 'birhtday'."

The look that crossed his face right about broke my heart. I know how much he struggled with his dyslexia in high school and he always felt embarrassed whenever he made a spelling mistake. His spelling had gotten better though and he rarely interchanged letters anymore, but every once in a while, usually when he was stressed, his dyslexia would get worse.

"It's okay, Sam. You've got a lot on your mind. It's happened to me too when I've been really stressed out."

He glanced at me.

"Just put a little curve here and make this line a little longer," I said gently taking the pen from his hand and adjusting the letters. "See, she won't even notice."

He gave me a small smile, but his eyes still looked a little sad.

I reached up and ran my fingers through his tousled hair. His bed hair was super sexy, but I doubted his mother would appreciate finding me here and her innocent, beautiful son with wild hair. It would definitely be sending the wrong signals.

Gently I let my hand slide down to his cheek; the light stubble that covered it couldn't be older than two or three days at the most. It tickled my palm and my fingers and I felt those damn butterflies going wild again.

He had just covered my hand with his when the doorbell rang. And I drew a breath of relief. The fluttering wings of the butterflies were making me jittery, a few seconds longer and my knees would have been too soft to carry my weight.

Sam shot up from his seat and practically leaped to the front door, pulling it open with such hurry that he slammed it against his own forehead.

"Oh my God, Samuel!" a female voice gasped and instantly I knew it was his mother.

"You stupid klutz!"

"Stevie, language!" Mary hissed and by then I had moved into the hall as well.

Sam was rubbing his forehead and his mother was trying to get him to remove his hand so that she could take a look at it. Meanwhile Dwight was trying to get the entire family to step inside the apartment so that he could close the door behind them.

Stacy was the first one to notice me. She almost tackled me to the floor when she launched herself into my arms.

"Hi, there, birthday girl!" I smiled as the little girl wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Quinn! What are you doing here?" she squealed excitedly and by the confused look on her mother and father's face they were asking the same question. "I've missed you so much! Stevie, look! Quinn is here!"

The boy played it a lot cooler than his sister though and walked slowly towards me before he let me pull him into a quick hug. "Wow, look at you. A big boy now," I said when we pulled away and he nodded.

Sam gave me a light smile as our eyes locked for a fraction of a second before his father filled the silence.

"Miss Fabray, it's been a while," he said and his wife squinted at him before she took a step forward and pulled me into a brief hug. Dwight took what happened between Sam and I during high school a lot harder than Mary did, and I guess he was still a little skeptic towards me, not that I could blame him.

Sam and his parents hugged and kissed before we all moved into the kitchen where Stacy had already found her birthday present. She was carefully turning the small box upside-down and shaking it lightly. "Can I open it now?"

"Can't you wait a little, sweetheart?" Mary said and her daughter shook her head.

"Let her open it, mom," Sam said and leaned against the kitchen island. A hand was brought up to touch his forehead again. "You know how she'll get otherwise."

Sam's mother sighed and nodded and Stacy put on her biggest smile. Meanwhile I pulled out a pack of ice from the freezer and gave it to Sam. He mouthed a 'thank you' and smirked at me.

"A harmonica?" Stacy said surprised. "Is it _your_ harmonica?"

Her oldest brother nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I got it from grandpa when I turned six. When we lost our home back in Lima I couldn't bring myself to sell it," he admitted. "I remembered how much you liked to listen to me play on it and you made me promise to teach you one day. So online Skype lessons are included," he explained and the little girl ran over to him and hugged him.

"Can we get cake now? Stevie asked impatiently when his sister let go of Sam.

"Of course, little dude," Sam said and rustled his brother's hair.

Stevie shrugged away from him though. "I'm _not_ little," he muttered offended before fixing his hair.

"You're my baby brother, you'll_ always_ be little."

"Boys, no fighting now," Dwight warned while Steve huffed and Sam rolled his eyes.

* * *

The cake was a hit. Stacie loved it, and I think she ate as much as four pieces. Judging by Dwight's satisfied munching he was quite fond of the chocolate dessert as well.

"This cake is delicious, Quinn," he said and out of the corner of my eyes I could spot Sam arching an eyebrow. Apparently he had expected his father to actually believe he had baked it himself. Actually, he had helped – with the first cake, but I don't think that one would have been a very huge hit.

"It is true what they say: the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Dwight continued. "Mary was working at her uncle's restaurant when I first met her. Even to this day I still haven't had a burger that's half as good as the ones she make." He gave his wife a warm smile then he turned his attention back to me again.

"Dad, please," Sam said and out of the corner of my eye I could see the pink spreading across his cheeks.

Judging by the way Mary was looking at me, the corners of her lips slightly bent upwards, I assume the color on my face matched the one on their oldest son's cheeks pretty well.

I let out a silent sigh of relief when Mary decided to change the topic of conversation. "Samuel, honey, do you want more cake? I can cut you a piece."

"No, thanks, mom."

Mary frowned. "Are you sure, honey? I can—"

"Mom, I'm twenty-three. If I wanted more cake I would have cut myself another piece. You don't have to attend to me," Sam said softly. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

His mother nodded and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Of course not."

It warmed my heart to see how much his parents still cared about him. I could understand why he wanted to make them realize he was no longer their little baby boy, but the way they constantly attempted to attend to him was adorable. I wish my parent were more like his . . .

The conversation drifted off to one about work and, of course, our old friends from Glee Club. It didn't really surprise me to find out how much Dwight and Mary knew about Finn, Rachel, Puck, Artie, Tina and the others. Sam and his parents have always had a very honest relationship; they are the kind of parents you can tell everything.

I was so caught up in thinking how different my life would have been if my parents would have been as open and understanding as Sam's, especially about my pregnancy in sophomore year, that Dwight's voice, suddenly directed to me, startled me a little.

"How is your daughter, Quinn?" he asked kindly, and I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but whenever someone brought up Beth I always felt a pang of pain in my chest. Sam grabbed my hand under the table and gave it a light squeeze.

Slowly I shook my head and licked my lips. "I haven't seen her in a while. She's living with Rachel's mother in Ohio and I barely have contact with Shelby anymore… Beth is in good hands though."

A slightly uncomfortable silence fell over us where no one knew how to continue. All the while Sam's thumb drew circles at the back of my hand. It was alarmingly soothing.

After a while Sam's mother nodded understandingly and gave me a warm smile. "You were very brave, Quinn. You gave that little girl a chance to a good life."

I found my head bobbing up and down in an awkward nod, while I did my best to try to moisten my dry throat. The soda in my glass, with all its bubbles, seemed to be as effective as desert air filled with sand.

I silently thanked God when Mary noticed Sam's empty glass and her motherly instincts—if that's what you call them?—kicked in again. "Samuel, you look thirsty, sweatheart. Maybe you want some milk? I can—"

Sam gave her a pointed look and she hung her head momentarily before glancing back up at him with the soft smile only a mother is capable of. "And you are my grown-up son who is fully capable of getting himself a glass of milk if he wants one. I'm sorry, honey."

"It's cool, mom. But I think Quinn would like some milk," he said and glanced at me. Mary looked confused at first, but then she grabbed the milk carton and passed it to her oldest son.

"Thanks, Sam," I whispered when he leaned closer to me and poured the white liquid into my now empty glass. Everyone around the table was intently observing us though they did their best to give the appearance that they hadn't noticed the chaste kiss Sam pressed to my temple. I am fairly certain he wasn't even aware he did it, but my heart did a double beat just then.

* * *

I had my hands buried deep in in the water filled sink when he strolled into the kitchen. Half a mountain of dirty plates, glasses and cups were littering the counter closest to the sink and I noticed him scrunch his nose when he caught me busy scrubbing one of the plates. He had told me to let them be, but I have evidently never been one for taking orders.

"And the Evans family has left the building. By the way, Stacy says thanks for the cake, again," he said as he walked up beside me. "Didn't I tell you not to touch the dish? I'll take care of that tomorrow."

I snickered quietly and gave him a skeptical glare. "We both know that's not true, Sam. Tomorrow you'll just come up with another excuse and then these dirty plates will lay here until your mother comes to visit the next time."

He huffed and tried to look offended, but the tiny tug at the corners of his lips gave him away. "_You_ shouldn't be doing them though," he murmured and reached his arm around me and into the water. He pulled the plug and a vortex appeared where the water was disappearing down the strainer.

"Hey, do you know how long it took to get the water warm enough! It's a waste of water, energy _and_ time," I exclaimed and spun around only to find myself staring into his twin pools of sage. The way they were looking at me; it was as if they were trying to decipher the entire mystery that is my mind.

He smiled softly, but there was something to his voice. "I'm sure Mother Earth will forgive us," he murmured and I wanted to shoot him a quick retort, but for some reason I couldn't get my mouth to form the words.

I was drowning in gorgeous green oceans as he brought his hand up to gently touch my chin. There was something on his mind that he couldn't find the courage to voice and his teeth were gnawing at his bottom lip.

When he finally parted his lips I had half-expected him to make some lame excuse to why he seemed to have zoned out, but he didn't. Instead he leaned forward and brushed his lips against my temple. "Let me finish this. It's eight o'clock and they're showing reruns of _Top Model_."

With furrowed eyebrows I stared at him for a short moment. "Sam, you're confusing me."

He gave me a wry smirk and pushed me away from the counter.

"You really smacked your head hard, didn't you?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes at that and pointed towards the living room.

* * *

"I envy you, Sam," I said as he dropped down on the couch next to me fifteen minutes later. He arched an eyebrow at me. "Look at you, you made it. You got everything you ever wanted. You got a scholarship, you got drafted, you got yourself a very nice job where everyone likes you and you bought a nice car and an apartment."

He snickered. "Quinn—"

"And your family is so happy. You all love each other and—"

The smile dropped from his face. He knew where I was going; it was the same story every time I got to be around a _real_ family. "Quinn," he caught my hands in mid-air as I gestured wildly. "Don't do this to yourself." His green eyes were peering at me from under his blond bangs. "Your father is an asshole. You not having Beth wouldn't have changed what he did. Hell, he was probably with that other chick long before you even met Puck. He treated you and your mother like crap. Don't even get me started on what that dickhead tried to do to you just a few months ago."

I didn't want to be reminded, I had nightmares about it every other night and that was enough. "Sam, I don't—"

"I know. I just don't want you to blame yourself, because it's not your fault."

It was my fault, at least partially. My father wouldn't have kicked me out of the house if I hadn't gotten pregnant. Perhaps I couldn't have done much about his affair with that 'tattooed freak'—mother still hadn't told me her real name—but in the whole I wasn't exactly innocent.

"You know what the problem is? You laugh way too little," Sam broke the silence that had fallen over us after our deep talk.

I furrowed my brows.

"You should laugh more," he purred and crawled closer to me.

The second his fingers jumped to my ribcage and began to tickle my sensitive skin through my shirt I let out a loud squeal.

"I don't remember you being this tickly?" he laughed as I squirmed to get away from his hands. It just encouraged him more though and he pushed me backwards so that I was lying flat on my back. "You can't win this one, Fabray," he whispered in my ear and continued to tickle my stomach.

"Gosh. Sam, stop! Can't breathe!" I gasped between giggles and he just grinned. It wasn't until his fingers stopped tickling me that I realized he was straddling me and that my shirt had slid up to reveal half my stomach. The intensity in his twin pools of gorgeous green made me all dizzy.

I am not quite sure what made me do it, but mere milliseconds after Sam paused in his 'torture' of me I reached up, quickly pecked him on the lips, rolled out from under him and jumped onto my feet.

The blond looked both confused and surprised as he turned his head to look at me, but his perplexed expression soon turned into a lopsided grin as I bit my lip and backed away from him while saying, "Looks like I'm not losing."

He laughed then—no, guffawed—and jumped to his feet. In a second or two he had caught up with me and pulled me back to the couch.

I grabbed at his arm with my left hand and placed my other hand against his chest in a desperate need to keep a little distance between us when he pulled me down into his lap. But it was so damn hard when he was looking at me with those sage irises.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, his warm breath ghosting over my face, and I swear it made my heart do a double beat. Or maybe it was his huge lips gently brushing against mine seconds before he lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine in a deep and emotional kiss.

Something rippled through my body before settling deep in my core when I felt his hand slowly sliding up my side. His other hand was placed, palm flat, against the small of my back to keep me from falling off his lap.

My whole body shivered with emotions when his tongue traced my bottom lip, silently asking for permission to enter. A sigh escaped my throat when he dipped it between my lips and clashed it against mine.

Beneath my palm I felt the steady beating of his heart as I slid my hand up his chest. The muscles rippled slightly under my touch and I couldn't help but smile against his lips when I heard a low moan emerge in the back of his throat.

I chose that moment to detach our lips and draw a somewhat shaky breath. With a shy smile on my lips I watched his eyes flutter open and deep blush spread across his handsome features. He bit down on his bottom lip and raised a hand to rub at his neck.

It was all so entirely different from the kiss we shared at New Year's Eve, maybe because this time we weren't drunk out of our minds and half-desperate to find someone—anyone, really—to share that special New Year's Eve kiss with or maybe because this time we had both seen it coming but done nothing to stop it.

To be honest it didn't really matter _why. _Actually, nothing really mattered at the moment. All I could think about was the feeling of his lips pressed to mine and that hand of his that had so dexterously danced across my skin mere seconds ago.

The feeling of him shifting ever so slightly underneath me pulled me out of my thoughts.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he found the words he was looking for. "I, I'm sorry if I crossed the line," he said quietly while his green eyes flickered to the side.

Slowly I shook my head. Then I raised my hand to his face, his short stubble tickling the sensitive skin at the tip of my fingers as I tilted his head towards mine. "Don't be," I whispered as I brushed his blond hair from his forehead and gently touched my lips to his.

Somewhere in the back of my head Santana's raspy voice were repeating her own words from Christmas Day, 'You're like magnets, you gravitate towards each other.'

Maybe she was right?

* * *

Author's note,

Hey everyone, hope you all have enjoyed the summer so far! I know this chapter is a few weeks overdue, but I've been trying to figure out where this story is headed which hasn't exactly been easy. I have a few more chapters outlined, but at the moment I'm afraid I'm experiencing a bit of a writer's block. Your kind reviews are really helping through it though, so thank you!

**RJRRAA: **Thank you so much for reviewing! I hope you liked this chapter too.

Gotta love Santana and her slams! She is hilarious.

Quinn's getting pretty comfortable with having Sam around, isn't she? Like you said, they're kind of like a married couple, LOL. I totally agree with you, it would have been nice if she had just turned around and kissed him under the water. But it's not really a Quinn-like thing to do. I mean, she pretty much panicked when Sam tried to kiss her when they practiced their duet in Season 2. You got your kiss in this chapter though so I hope that makes up for the lack of actual kissing in the last one.

I can't believe Cory's gone too. It was a real shock. At first I thought it was just another celebrity death hoax, you know. Unfortunately it wasn't.

**Ceruleanblues:** Thank you so much! I'm glad you like the chapter; it really means a lot coming from you since you're, in my opinion, the best Fabrevans writer on FanFiction :)

I love writing Rachel, Quinn and Santana together. It's like when they're together, those girls pretty much write themselves, haha! The baking scene was also a blast writing and I have to admit I was a bit inspired by the scene Quinn and Puck shared in Season 1, hopefully my baking scene wasn't _too_ similar to that one, haha!

**K: **Thank you so much for reading this story and for taking a minute to post a review! I'm happy to hear you like the story :) And I apologize for the long wait for Chapter 16.

**Ashley: **Thank you for sticking with this story and for reviewing! :) I know I promised a couple of weeks ago that this chapter would be a lot more detailed and that I'd probably change the rating to M, but as I was reading the chapter I realized that what I had initially written didn't quite fit and I ended up re-writing half the chapter, hence why it took me so long to upload it. I promise it'll get more detailed later on and the rating will probably go up to M, I've already began writing outlines for a few scenes.

I've never been this super confident kind of person and I'm always very critical of everything I write, but all the kind reviews I'm getting are really helping me believe in myself as a writer. So thank you!

Hope you liked this chapter even though it's several weeks overdue! And Happy Birthday! :)

**FabrevansXOXOBrittana:** Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm glad you liked the chapter; it's actually one of my favorites so far. I had so much fun writing it.

For some reason I just feel like Sam washing some girl's hair (hopefully Quinn's) like that could actually happen on the show, LOL.

Oh, you don't have to apologize :) I've had access to internet the entire summer but still it's taken me like three weeks to post Chpater 16, LOL. I hope you had fun at your aunt's though (even without internet)! :)

**SamEvans17: **I had totally forgotten about that scene. Maybe I subconsciously pushed it aside, pretended it never happened, just because I think the whole scene was so horribly written, LOL. It's good that they're addressing things like child molestation and Blake Jenner's acting in that particular scene was spot on, but there were just so many other people that were acting so out of character, like Sam and Artie, for example. It would probably have made more sense if Puck had been there and said something like that, because he would have honestly thought it was cool. At least that's what I think.

I kind of miss old Sam too; the geeky, street-smart, honest person whom Mike called an 'epitome of a leader'. But at least the writers are giving Sam more storylines and screen time now. I'm glad you like the way I write Sam, I try to make him more like season 2-3 Sam than Season 4 :)

**DMCC:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter. Hopefully you'll like this one too since it kind of takes off where the last one ended. I'm sorry it took me so long to upload it, but I've been quite busy the last couple of weeks… I've also been trying to figure out where this story is headed.

Hopefully I'll be able to update this story more frequently now, emphasis on the word 'hopefully'.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter :)


	17. Chapter 17

_Across These City Streets_,

Author's note,

Summary: Four years after graduating from William McKinley High Quinn finds herself living a peaceful life in a small New York apartment. Her studies at Yale are coming to an end and she is getting ready to move into adulthood. Her quiet life takes an unexpected turn when a familiar face re-enters her life.

Rated T for language, violence and sexual references. The rating may change to M. The story will contain spoilers from the first three seasons of _Glee_ and it will focus mainly on Quinn and Sam, with Faberry and Quinntana-friendship on the side.

Disclaimer: I do _not _own _Glee_ nor do I own any of its characters.

Enjoy and don't forget to review!

* * *

_Chapter 17_

One and a half week later, on February 12, two days before Valentine's Day, Sam's grandfather passed away.

It was raining outside, a light drizzle, slightly too warm for the time of the year. It reminded me of a late summer night I had spent out on the patio of our summer house with my sister. We had been seated close together in the hammock, a blanket wrapped around our shoulders with our feet dangling just above the floor. We had stayed there until long after midnight, watching the raindrops fall over the meadows, even though usual bedtime was set around ten o'clock.

I've always liked rain, because somehow I find it soothing. Come to think of it, I was probably the only kid in kindergarten that wasn't afraid of thunder.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" Sam murmured, his deep voice slightly hoarse and laced with sleep, as he turned his head a tiny bit to the side in my lap.

The movie, some recent remake of Star Wars: Episode Five, that Sam had asked me to come to his place to watch, had long ago ended.

I let my fingers slide into his hair, gently stoking the thick blond mane of his away from his forehead. The corners of his lips twitched upwards a bit and his eyelids slid close for a second.

"Rain," I mumbled and twirled a lock of his golden hair around my finger.

"Mm," he hummed and his eyes cracked open into tiny slits. "Rain."

"Rain," I mimicked and then smirked when I caught his eyelids sliding close again. "You tired?" I whispered.

The response was a half-conscious murmur and a tiny wrinkle of his nose.

I let my eyes wander across his boyish features, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, and a smile sneaked up on my face. Slowly I brought my other hand up to gently caress his smooth cheek.

"You want me to leave so you can go to bed?" I asked, admiring the beautiful view.

A faint sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head, the warm air ghosting the side of my hand. With his eyes still closed he caught my hand in his and laced our fingers together. A pleasant shiver ran up my spine when he brushed his soft lips against the back of my hand.

"Would you sing for me?" he queered quietly before dropping another featherlike kiss to my knuckles. A heartbeat later he added, "I miss hearing you sing."

I remained quiet for a while, chewing my bottom lip cautiously as I watched the rain outside the window.

_Sittin' in the porch swing_  
_Listenin' to the light rain_  
_Beatin' on the tin roof_  
_Baby, just me and you_  
_Rockin' with the rhythm of the rain_

He opened his eyes and looked up at me, a growing smirk on his face, looking like a kid at Christmas. "Now, one with accent!" he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes at his childish joy and continued singing, while the sound of raindrops against the window pane created an irregular beat in the background.

_Slide on over  
Baby hold me closer  
Movin' to and fro  
Just swayin' like a slow freight train  
Rockin' with the rhythm of the rain _

His foot tapped quietly against the armrest and his head moved 'to and fro' in my lap in time with the tapping. The smile was still plastered on his lips.

He then sang the chorus with me, taking it upon him to sing the harmonies in the thickest Kentucky accent he could.

_So let the breeze keep blowin'  
(rockin' with the rhythm of the rain that's a falling)  
(night birds a signin' the cricket a callin')  
Oh my heart will never be the same  
Keep the sweet feelin' flowin'  
(whisper in my ear baby)  
(oh feels so fine)  
(nights like this come once in a lifetime)  
Me and my baby rockin' with the rhythm of the rain _

I couldn't finish the song because I was laughing so hard at his exaggerated accent that my eyes watered and a few tears even spilled over the edge and fell to his grey sweatshirt.

"God, s-stop. Sam, I-I can't breathe," I managed between fits of giggles.

He laughed at me and sat up, placed both his hands against my cheeks and wiped the tears way with his thumbs. His chuckle died down and his lips settled for a lopsided smile. "You're adorable," he mused aloud before leaning in and planting a soft, affectionate kiss to the corner of my mouth, his lips lingering there a few seconds.

When he pulled away he was smiling again and I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck. I twirled a lock of silky smooth blond hair around my index finger.

"You're not too shabby yourself," I said and leaned into him, letting my forehead rest against his. The scent of his aftershave lingered in my nose and I closed my eyes and just breathed him in.

"What are we doing, Sam?" I asked after a while.

He pulled away a little to look at me. With furrowed eyebrows he asked, "What do you mean?"

"This," I said and gestured between us. "We, us. What's going on here?"

He opened his mouth slightly then closed it again.

"We barely spent this much time together when we actually were dating."

"I don't know," he said and shook his head. "I don't know what's going on between us, but I'd be lying to you if I told you I didn't like it." He dropped his gaze to his lap. "I've really missed you, Quinn."

I placed two fingers under his chin and tilted his head up again. "I'm glad you're back," I said and gave him a smile.

He leaned forward and pecked my cheek before nuzzling his nose against my neck.

The intro to Kenny Loggins' 80's hit _Danger Zone_ complete with the famous _Top Gun_ quote "I feel the need, the need for speed" jolted me out of my trance just as Sam brushed his lips against my ear.

Why can't he have a standard ringtone like everybody else? Or better yet, put the damn thing into silent.

I shot his cell phone an annoyed glance, hoping I'd be able to silence the damn thing just by staring at it. I had no such luck. My irritation eased slightly though as I caught the word 'mom' flashing across the screen.

"Who is it? Sam breathed against my neck before dropping a light kiss just behind my ear and that damn shiver ran down my spine again before stirring something deep down in my core.

"Your mom," I croaked, trying, but failing miserably, to hide the effect he has on my body.

Shrugging out of his embrace I reached for the device on the coffee table.

"She's got the best timing," he scoffed and shook his head, blond bangs falling into his eyes.

I rolled my eyes at him and handed him the cell phone before saying, "She loves you."

He mumbled something my ears couldn't pick up before he slid his index finger across the screen and placed the device to his ear. "Hi, mom!"

A smile broke out on my face seeing how his face lit up every time he heard the voice of one of his family members.

I decided to give him and his mother the opportunity to talk somewhat in private so I got up from the couch and went over to the kitchen that was separated from the living room by a small black and white bar. Pouring myself a glass of apple juice I couldn't help but watch him interact with his mother over the phone.

It wasn't until he removed the phone from his ear that I noticed he had tears in his eyes.

"Sam, you okay?" I asked as I put down the glass of juice on the counter and stepped out from behind the bar.

He let the device drop from his hand onto the fluffy green rya rug as he stared at the smooth surface of the coffee table in front of him, his own reflection staring back at him. A minute or two passed in silence before he said finally said anything.

"He's gone," he mumbled, his voice slightly more high-pitched than usual.

It took me about a millisecond to figure out what had happened. "I'm so sorry," I said and walked over to the couch, placed a hand on his shoulder and sat down next to him.

He let his body lean into me and his head fell to rest on my shoulder. A shaky breath left his lungs.

We stayed like that for what must have been at least an hour or more silently taking comfort in the other.

"Quinn," he said after a while, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "would you do me a favor?"

I nodded against his hair.

"Please, come with me."

* * *

The funeral was held less than a week later in a small catholic church outside Madisonville, Kentucky, where Sam's grandfather grew up. A copper plate bolted to the stone next to the entrance said the church accommodates up to one hundred people, but I swear to God—funny, considering where I were—that there were definitely more than one hundred souls present at the funeral. It didn't surprise me though. From what little Sam had told me about his grandfather I had gathered that there was no room for anything but love in his heart.

I got to sit on the front row with Sam and his family, mostly because I didn't know anyone else there and partly because Stacy had insisted I was now part of the family. Dwight and Mary didn't have the heart to argue with their daughter.

The ceremony had barely started before Sam's hand sneaked into my lap and his fingers curled around mine. He didn't look at me, didn't even give me a glance, he just kept his gaze glued to the casket before us.

I let my thumb gently rub his knuckles and my heart broke a little when a strangled sob bubbled up through his throat.

When the pastor finished the prayer Sam gave my hand a gentle squeeze before he pulled away.

I watched his mother caress his cheek and his father give his shoulder a light squeeze before he rose from his seat and walked over to the casket. He reached out and touched the polished surface, his fingers lingering there for a few short seconds before he slowly pulled his hand back and turned to face the pews.

Drawing a deep breath he withdrew a piece of paper from his pant pocket and unfolded it with unsteady fingers.

He cleared his throat.

"For those who don't know me, my name is Sam Evans. And I'd like to say a few words in memory of my grandfather."

He licked his lips carefully and let his gaze sweep across the room.

"On my fifth birthday my grandfather took me with him into Owensboro," he paused for a short moment and smiled down at the ground as the memories flooded back into his mind. "We spent the entire day just walking around, stopping every now and then to buy ice-cream or feed the doves."

He grew quiet again and when he pulled his head back up the nostalgic smile on his face had faded somewhat, replaced by a somber expression.

"It was my first encounter with a homeless person, a beggar; an old man so skinny I could see the bones in his arms through the sun-bleached and torn T-shirt. He was clutching an old hat in his hand, a few coins clinking as his bony hand trembled. I remember hiding behind my grandfather's leg as the old man lifted his head to glance at me. I was scared and I begged my grandfather to leave with me, I even tried tugging at his pant leg, but he wouldn't bulge."

He shook his head slowly, that little smile tugging at the corner of his lips again.

"Instead my grandfather crouched in front of the old man and placed a light hand on his shoulder, introduced himself and me and asked the man if he would mind accompany us for lunch."

Sam let his gaze wander across the faces before him, lingering just a second longer at his father. "Looking back on that memory now, that toothless smile was one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed," he said sincerely.

I watched him swallow back tears and knead his hands in front of him before he continued. "That was the type of person my grandfather was; he cared about people, even those he did not know, and he didn't judge anyone. When my family lost our home, he and grandma didn't hesitate to take us in, not even once. 'You're my blood, son,' he told me, 'my family, and families look out for each other.' "

He drew another shaky breath.

"If I could ever—" His voice cracked and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I could ever come close to being the kind of man he was, I'd be blessed." A tear ran down his cheek, dangled at the tip of his chin for a second or two before it fell to the floor.

"My grandfather was, and will always be, my greatest inspiration, my hero," he sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "I love you grandpa and I'm gonna miss you."

* * *

There were a lot of hands to shake, cheeks to kiss and bodies, soaked from the February drizzle, to hug.

I watched Sam talk to an old lady who had introduced herself to me earlier as Sam's grandfather's younger sister. She was a beautiful lady, a real southern bell once, I was sure, except for the upper class thing. There was a certain air around her, something that really drew you in. It didn't take me long to realize that it was the same kind of gravitational pull that drew me to Sam in the first place.

"You will be sick, sweetie, standing out here in the rain."

I turned my head and spotted Sam's grandmother standing next to me, holding her umbrella over our heads. She gave me a kind smile and placed a hand on my arm. "Handsome, ain't he?"

I blushed and bit down on my bottom lip. "He's quite a looker, ma'am," I said and she smiled.

"It's like seeing his grandfather back in fifty-nine when we first met. Indisputably the most fine-looking man I have ever seen," she mused aloud. "Oh, the girls at the sewing factory where I worked, they were all so jealous." She chuckled quietly.

A picture of a slightly different Sam leaning against an old rusty Ford on the parking lot of a small sewing factory popped up in my head. He had a smile on his face and that familiar twinkle in his eye. He was humming, of course, the melody of one, at that time, popular country song.

"He adores you," she said after a while and chuckled at my expression. "It's in his eyes. The way he looks at you. He is a chip off the old block, just like his father."

Just as I was about to voice my response Stacy came up to us, linked her arm with her grandmother's and flashed me a smile, the brightest of smiles she could a day like this one.

"The car is here," she said and motioned towards the parking lot where a taxi was waiting, ready to take Mrs. Evans home.

The old woman nodded and placed a light hand on her granddaughter's cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Stacy nodded and then turned her head to look at me. "You'll be staying with us for a couple of days, right?" she asked, sounding so hopeful it hurt to tell her I wouldn't.

"Please?" she said.

"I wish I could, Stace, I really do. But I have to get back to work and so does Sam."

The blond girl sighed. "Yeah, that's what Sammy said too. You'll come back for Stevie's birthday though, won't you?"

"I hope so," I said, not wanting to build up her expectations too much.

Her face broke into a smile and she went to wrap her arms around me. And I swear she would never have let go unless her father had been calling her name asking her to come help him get his uncle's wheelchair into their car.

When Stacy had left Sam's grandmother placed her wrinkly hand on my arm. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Fabray," she said sincerely, "even though it happened during these circumstances." Sadness flashed over her features, before she painted it over with another kindhearted smile.

"It has been a pleasure meeting you too, ma'am," I responded and patted her hand gently.

She smiled back at me before she threw a glance towards the parking lot. "Would you mind walking with me, sweetheart?" she asked and I nodded.

I helped her across the uneven ground and all the way up to the taxi into which she managed to climb all by herself. Just when I was about to close the door for her she leaned out towards me.

"He's a keeper, darling," she said and gave me a knowing smile.

* * *

We stayed at a local hotel in Madisonville for the night, since none of us were in the mood to drive back to New York.

Originally we had booked two single bedrooms, but there had been some kind of problem with the reservation system and we ended up with only one room. Too tired to argue the issue with the staff, we had agreed on sharing a bed for the night.

During the ride to the hotel Sam had stayed quiet, only once in a while letting out a sigh or two. When we reached our room he fled into the bathroom almost immediately and moments later I heard the shower turn on.

I could feel his pain, how it's like to lose someone you care about so deeply. It's horrible.

He emerged from the bathroom half an hour later with a towel wrapped around his waist and water drops glistening on his back. His hair was a mess of damp blond and light brown.

With a deep sigh he slumped down on the edge of the bed. He just sat there fingering the edge of the towel until I crawled over the bedspread to his side and wrapped an arm across his chest from behind. I kissed the exposed skin on his shoulder before I let my chin rest there.

I didn't say anything and nor did he.

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips when I felt his hand cover mine and his fingers sneak in between mine. We stayed like that for a while, just sitting there in silence.

Eventually he decided it was time to get ready to go to bed and he got up and grabbed a pair of clean Calvin Kleins from his duffel bag.

Unofficially, we had been kind of together for about three weeks. In reality we had had feeling for each other for God knows how long . . . But I still blushed just as hard every time his shirt would slide up and reveal a strip of his toned stomach or when he'd bend over and his jeans would stretch over his butt. Don't get me starting on when he's _out_ of his jeans.

When he was finished putting on his boxers he turned around and flashed me a lopsided smirk. "You're blushing," he said and walked over to the bed.

I pressed my eyes shut and tried to keep the smile off my lips. "Bad habit," I mumbled.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead before he pulled the cover over his body. "I think it's cute."

I snorted and reached up to gently brush the bangs out of his eyes. "I talked to your grandmother today," I told him.

"Yeah?" he mumbled.

"Mm-hm. She says you're a keeper."

He chuckled and rolled over on his back. "That true?"

I put my head on his chest and listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat. "She says you're just like him."

The hand on my back, the one that had been drawing random patterns underneath his old plain white T-shirt, stilled for a split second.

"They're all so proud of you," I whispered against his skin and felt him pull me a little closer. "And that speech you gave," I shook my head slowly. "It was so sincere and so emotional. I don't think it left a single eye dry."

He licked his lips slowly. "You think he would have liked it?" he asked eventually.

I nodded against his chest. "He would have loved it."

He grew quiet after that and I was pretty sure he had fallen asleep until I heard him sigh quietly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled softly, the sound of his voice muffled by my hair.

I tilted my head to glance up at him but was met by the underside of his jaw as he had turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. "I haven't been completely honest with you," he continued in the same low voice as before.

A sudden feeling of panic and discomfort took hold of me as I, in my head, painted up the different scenarios. Had he been cheating on me this whole time? Did he not love me? Was he secretly engaged to some beautiful Ohio State alumni that was now coming back to claim her man? The theories were many, and for some reason I found that they were all negative . . .

He inhaled a deep breath before he opened his mouth and began to speak. "You remember how I told you that I came here because of the NFL lock-out?" he queered and I nodded. It was during the party at his place the same night Finn, Rachel and I found out that he had been playing college football. "I said that I didn't feel like playing anymore and that I wanted to be closer to you guys. Well, that wasn't entirely true . . . I mean, I truly missed you, all of you. But there was another reason why I came here . . ." he trailed off.

For a few painfully long seconds we just lay there in complete and utter silence. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist and his head half buried in my long blond hair. The fingers of his right hand slowly traced small circles on the exposed skin on my back.

"The picture in the living room, the one from where my team won the national championship title, it was that moment I realized what that _reason_ was."

I had meant to ask him what made him realize that and more importantly what that reason was, but my voice was hoarse from lack of use and the only sound that left my mouth was an awkward mix between a mumble and a groan.

"During college I met this girl," Sam begun and I immediately felt my stomach drop. That secret fiancé theory couldn't be true, could it? He couldn't dump me the night of his grandfather's funeral!

"Her name was Cassidy and she was probably one of the most beautiful girls at Ohio State. She wasn't that very tall and she had this long blond hair and porcelain skin that made her look like an angel in the right light. We dated for a while and I really thought that she would be the last girl I ever was with."

"What happened?" I managed to croak around the large lump that had formed in my throat as I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears that had started to sting the back of my eyes from spilling over.

Sam sighed heavily and snuggled closer to me. "It was during the national championship game. The game had just ended and we were in the center of the field celebrating our championship title. I caught Cassidy standing at the sideline together with the girls form her cheerleading squad. They were all dressed in the standard Ohio State University red and white cheerleading uniform and their hair were pulled up in tight ponytails. That was when it struck me. Why I had been so intrigued by this beautiful girl, but why I couldn't feel anything at all when I got close enough to look into her brown eyes or why her voice didn't appeal to me the way I thought it should have."

I felt his hand move along my arm until his smooth fingers reached my hand. Gently he intertwined our fingers and let his thumb brush over the warm skin at the back of my hand. "She wasn't you," he purred and kissed the top of my head again.

A slight feeling of guilt rushed over me as I silently cursed myself for even considering the idea that Sam Evans would intentionally hurt anyone like that.

"Yeah?" I asked in a voice not louder than a whisper.

I felt his body shift slightly behind me as he pulled his left arm from out under my pillow. He pushed himself up into a half-sitting position where he supported his weight on his left elbow. "Yeah," he mimicked my words, but the way he said it told me he truly meant it. In addition to that, as if the sincerity in his voice had not been enough to convince me, his deep ocean colored eyes bore into mine with such intensity that it almost made me dizzy. Only Sam could do such a thing to me; make me feel lightheaded from a short moment of eye contact.

If I hadn't been so taken by the weight in the handsome blond man's words and the sincerity in his captivating gaze I might have been able to pay more attention to his next words. But just maybe. To have his warm and ridiculously ripped body pressed against mine was more than enough to make me lose track of everything else that happened around me.

However, during a few short moments I almost thought I heard him whisper 'I love you' before he lay back down beside me and pulled me closer to his well-toned chest.

* * *

Author's note,

I don't really know what to say about this chapter other than that I hope you like it! :)

The song was_ Rockin' With the Rhythm of the Rain_ by the Judds. Pretty awesome song, if you ask me :)

A big thank you goes out to all of you for reading, reviewing and following! You are amazing :)

**SamEvans17:** Thank you so much! I promise there will be a lot more kissing in the next chapter :)

**RJRRAA:** Thank you so much for reviewing! :) About the 'Rachel B. & Quinn F-thing, I marked the story Quinn, Sam, Rachel and Santana because both Rachel and Santana are pretty important characters in this story, but for some reason Quinn and Rachel's names were the only ones you could see. So after a while I changed it back to only Quinn F. & Sam E.

**Guest:** Already did ;) The story was marked Quinn F., Sam E., Rachel B. and Santana L. because both Rachel and Santana play pretty important roles in this story, but for some reason the only names you could see were Quinn and Rachel. I apologize for any inconvenience caused!

**Ashley:** Thank you for reading and reviewing and for believing in me and my writing! It really means a lot :) I'm sorry I couldn't get the chapter up earlier, but I just finished it late last night.

**Nicole:** Thank you so much! I'm really glad you like it :) I totally agree with you, Season 2-3 Sam was definitely the best, I miss that Sam! Hopefully, we'll see him in Season 5 now that he's no longer dating Brittany. I love Brittany, but she and Sam doesn't belong together ;)

**Guest:** Was it this line 'Was it worse than in high school when he got into a fight with Karofsky?' you were referring to with your "Finn never picked fights with Karofsky?"?

I realize now that I've reread Chapter 8 that I may _not_ have made it very clear, but Kurt was actually referring to the fight between _Sam and Karofsky_ right before Carole and Burt's wedding. Kurt is in this case asking Quinn whether Sam's injuries were worse this time than after the fight with Karofsky.

I know that Finn is not usually the one to start a fight, but I think Quinn holds a special place in his heart, especially in this story, and Finn just can't stand watching her get hurt again. She's obviously been through a lot, having been kicked out of her house and involved in a serious car accident.

Furthermore, there has always been a bit of rivalry between the Finn and Sam and for Finn to learn that Sam was the one that ended up with a football scholarship and not he may have hurt a little, made him a little jealous. That could possibly have made it easier for Finn to pick a fight with Sam; he defended Quinn but at the same time he got to let out some pent up frustration.

Finn is a lovely character and he is the reason I started watching Glee in the first place. Thus this fight between Finn and Sam is by no means a way to make Finn 'the bad guy', because he's as far from that as one can get. He's just very protective of his friends, in this case Quinn.

I hope this cleared things up a little bit and if not feel free to PM me and I'll try to explain it better :)

**DMCC:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! :) I'm glad you're enjoying it.


End file.
